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9 





HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


• 

LOIS '^AISBHOOKER, 

»\ ’ 

AUTHOR OF “ ALICE VALE,” “ SUFFRAGE FOR WOMAN,” ETC., ETC. 


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BOSTON: 

WILLIAM WHITE AND COMPANY, 

BANNER OF LIGHT OFFICE,. 

158 Washington Street. 

NEW YORK: — THE AMERICAN NEWS COAir^^W, AGENTS, 
119 Nassau Street. 

1870. 





Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by • 

LOIS WAISBROOKER, 

In the Clerk’s OfBce of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


Boston : 

Stereotyped and Printed by William White & Co. 



To 


WOMAN EVERYWHERE, 


AND TO 

WRONGED AND OUTCAST WOMAN ESPECIALLY, 

IS 


THIS BOOK LOVINGLY DEDICATED 


THE AUTHORESS. 


“ As I gazed, and as I listened, there came a pale, blue-footed maiden ; 
Eyes filled with lurid light ; 

Her body bent with sickness, her lone heart heavy laden ; 

Her home had been the roofless street, 

Her day had been the night : 

First wept the angel sadly, — then smiled the angel gladly, 

And caught the maiden madly rushing from the open door ; 

An4 I heard a chorus swelling. 

Grand beyond a mortal’s telling, 

‘ Enter sister, thou art pure, thou art sinless evermore.’ ” 





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TO THE EEADEE. 


IND READER, — Again I present my claims to your 
attention. Perhaps you will be surprised at my bold- 
ness, from the fact that so few have dared to speak fearlessly for 
woman. In dedicating this book to woman in general, and to 
the outcast in particular, I am prompted by a love of justice, as 
well as by the desire to arouse woman to that self-assertion, that 
self-justice, which will insure justice from others. My observa- 
tion of life, of persons and things in general, has shown me, 
that, so long as any class of persons will submit to injustice, just 
so long they must be subject thereto. 

That “ God helps those who help themselves ’’ is the truest of 
axioms ; that is, if one axiom, or truth, can be truer than an- 
other : for it is only through ourselves, through the life-forces 
within ourselves, that we can be helped. Therefore, the man or 
woman who stimulates another to earn a dollar has really done 
more for them than though they had given them five ; for that 
ability, once developed, will bear fruit, some thirty, some sixty, 
and some many hundred fold. The same law holds good of 
every other channel through which the souls of men and women 


6 


TO THE READER. 


act upon this external plane of life, — is as true of moi al as of 
physical power. 

If, then, in writing this book, I can make woman feel that 
she need not submit to the injustice which society metes out to 
her, in condemning her so much more severely than it does man 
for the same offense, — if I can make her feel this, I have done 
more for her than though I had given thousands of dollars 
toward erecting homes for fallen women. 

My honest opinion is, that whatever tends to make woman 
feel that she is helpless, that she has not the power within her- 
self to rise, after having once gone aside from the straight and 
narrow path, — every effort put forth in this direction tends more 
to curse than to bless. Just so long as you gather them in and 
care for them as you would for babes or for cripples, just so 
long you may continue to do so ; but once show them that they 
can get up and walk erect again, even if they have stumbled, — 
once show them this, and your work is effectually done. 

And more than this : the present state of society wrongs man 
even more, if possible, than it does woman, from the fact that it, 
in a measure, promises him impunity in sin ; thus practically 
tempting him to tempt others, while hiding from him the pun- 
ishment that must inevitably follow all wrong-doing. 

It is not from measures put forth by mistaken philanthropists 
to save the individual that we can hope for the remedy from the 
present state of things. This can never accomplish the work : 
as well talk of dipping a river dry with a bucket. No : we must 
go back to causes ; we must change public sentiment ; and in no 
way can this be done so readily as by arousing woman to' a sense 
of her own power, the power tliat. defies disgrace, and dares all 


TO THE READER, 


7 


for the right, demanding justice to herself, and according it to 
others. 

During the recent war, I read a protest from a Richmond edi- 
tor that I shall never forget ; and, could I see that editor, I 
should delight to take him by the hand and thank him for that 
protest, for the admission then made. 

It seems that there had been a proposition made to chastise a 
class of women who gave the army a great deal of trouble ; but 
this maa said, “No: chastise the drunkard or the gambler if 
you will ; but man has the whole control of the machinery of 
society ; and he so manages, that, either directly or indirectly, a 
certain proportion of these poor creatures are obliged to sell 
themselves to us for our pleasure.’^ 

Is it not time that woman asserted herself? Is it not time that 
she helped to control the machinery of society f Will such 
results follow when she has equal rights, equal control, in these, 
in all matters that pertain to the welfare of humanity ? 

God speed the day that we can test this question thoroughly ; 
and, if we fail, we will submit, but not till then. 

To this end is this book written, and sent forth upon the sea 
of literature. 


L. W. 





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CONTENTS. 


The .Awakening . 

CHAPTER I. PAGE. 

A .Judge in Trouble . 

CHAPTER II. 


CHAPTER III. 

Charitable Conclusions 44 


First Fruits 

CHAPTER IV. 

Alone .... 

CHAPTER V. 

A Woman’s Hate 

* CHAPTER VI. 

More Reaping 

CHAPTER VII. 

Tested again 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Crazy Jane’s Story . 

CHAPTER IX. 

CHAPTER X. 


The Wisdom of the Wise 144 


9 


10 CONTENTS. 

y CHAPTER XI. PAGE. 

The Last Time 152 

CHAPTER XII. 

Another Story 169 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Decent Woman . * 171 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Just as I expected 180 

CHAPTER XV. 

Emendatore 191 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Wickedness op the Wicked 201 

CHAPTER XVII. 

War. — A Discovery * 216 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Broken Spirit. — Death * 224 

CHAPTER XIX. 

In the Hospital. — Woman’s Protectors 235 

CHAPTER XX. 

Scouting and its Results ' 259 

CHAPTER XXL 

Home Again. — A Suppliant 271 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Problems. — Conclusion . I . 282 



CHAPTER I. 


THE AWAKENING. 

“ See the maiden in the valley, 

Sitting in the sunshine, 

Pleasant sunshine. 

Of a warm and trusting love.” — L. W. 



ACK and forth, back and forth in the 
moonlight, their shadows falling athwart 
the window's lighting the little cottage 
sitting-room, walked the lovers upon that- 
autumn evening of the long ago, — so 
long, that the happiest of the two upon that never-to-be- 
forgotten night sits now in a home of her owm, and 
thousands of miles from the little spot that was then to 
her the dearest upon earth, — in a home where little 
feet sometimes come pattering about her chair, and chil- 
dren’s voices are heard lisping “ Gran’ma.” 

The luxuriant locks that then floated around her neck 
and shoulders in ringlets of glossy brown, — these are now 
showing an occasional gleam of white, and are smoothly 
parted back from her high, open forehead, to be confined 
in a simple knot at the back of the head. 


11 


12 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


But it is not of the present that we would speak ; not 
of mature years, but of trusting youth. 

Still the lovers continue their walk, and still their 
shadows fall upon the vine-wreathed window ; while 
within sits a woman yet in the bloom of life, but upon 
whose features there rests a shadow. There is an open 
book before her, from which she seems trying to read ; 
but the frequent wandering of her eyes, and the occa- 
sional clasping of the hands with a quick, nervous move- 
ment, as if struggling with mental anguish, — these show 
plainly that her thoughts are not there. ' 

At length she starts up, puts the book aside, and mur- 
muring to herself, “ This will never do : I must act be- 
fore it is too late,” goes to the door, and calls, “ Helen, 
my child.” 

“ Yes, mother: I will be in soon,” is the reply; and 
the mother resumes her seat, with, “ Dear child, how 
good and loving she is ! I could not live if harm should 
come to her.” 

The lovers are now upon the steps ; and the mother 
hears, “ Will you not come in, Edward ? ” 

“ Not to-night, but to-morrow, or on Monday,” is the' 
reply. 

“ On Monday ? ” 

“ Yes. I forgot to tell you that I am expecting some 
friends from town, though I hardly think they will be 
here before the first of the week : still, they may come 
to-morrow ; and, if so, I can not see you again before 
Monday. Three whole days ! three ages to me. But 
good-night, darling,’’ and a kiss, — yes, surely there was 
a kiss, — and he was gone. 

The next moment' Helen stood in her mother’s pres- 


THE AWAKENING. 


13 


ence, and — “ Why, mother, darling mother ! what is 
the matter ? You are as white as a sheet ! ” 

“ Not a very white sheet, then,” said the mother, try- 
ing to smile. “ But I am not feeling just well, though 
nothing serious, nothing to make you look like that ; in- 
deed there is not, my child,” she continued, marking 
the anxious look upon the girl’s face. “But sit down : 
1 wish to talk with you.” 

Helen took a stool, and sat down at her mother’s feet, 
still searching her face as though she would read her very 
soul. Mrs. Harlow placed her hand upon her daughter’s 
head, and, shading her eyes with the other, sat for some 
moments in silence. Just as the silence was becoming 
painful to the young girl, the mother spoke : — 

“ You love Edward Granger, my child ? ” 

“ Yes, mother.” 

“ And he loves you ? ” 

“ Yes, mother. I have promised to be his wife ; and 
he is coming to-morrow to talk with you about it.” 

“ Why did he not speak to me about it first ? How 
did he know that I would be willing that he should talk 
to you upon such a subject ? ” 

“ Mother I ” 

“ I am not blaming you, my darling ; but it seems to 
me that an honorable man would at least have spoken 
to the mother before winning the heart of her only 
child.” 

“ Mother ! ” 

“ How long have you known Edward Granger, 
Helen ? ” 

“ How long have I known him ? ” 

“ Yes : when did you meet him first ? ” 


14 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


At the picnic, one year ago last May.” 

Less than a year and a half since, and you were not 
fifteen then.” 

“ And you were married when you were fifteen, 
mother ; for I have heard you say so. You are as young- 
looking and handsomer than half the girls now ; and I 
know that you could marry, and have some one to love 
you, when I am gone, were it not for your devotion to 
my father’s memory.” 

“ When you are gone 1 ” repeated Mrs. Harlow, in a 
sort of dazed way, as if she hardly comprehended what 
was said. 

“ Why, yes, mother. I shall live with Edward, of 
course. Did you not leave your parents to live with 
father? But tell me more about father, mother ; you 
have said that you would some time when I was older ; 
and I am sure I am old enough now. Edward says 
that a girl is old enough to marry when she is sixteen ; 
and, if old enough to marry, certainly I am old enough 
to be told what you have promised to tell me some 
time.” 

Mrs. Harlow groaned. “ My child, I wish I had told 
you long ago : it might have kept you from trusting too 
implicitly one whom I fear is not all that you believe 
him to be.” 

“ Mother, mother ! what do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that I have learned from bitter experience 
that man is not to be trusted.” 

“ Not to be trusted ! How could you love, if you 
could not trust ? ” 

“ My child, my child ! how shall I make your pure 
nature comprehend the baseness that there is in man’s 


THE AWAKENING. 


15 


soul ? How tell you what I must tell you, and perhaps 
break your heart ? ” 

“ Mother ! ” 

“ Sit down here, Helen ; ” for in her excitement the 
girl had risen to her feet : “ right here. Now lay your 
head upon my knee, and let me hold your hands in mine, 
while I tell you that your father is a villain ; that he de- 
coyed me away from my parents, promised me marriage, 
and then forsook me to marry another ; that he still 
lives, is a rich and honored man in a distant city, — rich 
and honored, with four sons to call him father, but no 
daughter.” 

“ One daughter, for I live.” 

“ Ah ! but the law does not recognize you as his ; it 
gives you no claim upon him, because your mother was 
not legally married.” 

“ But you loved him, mother ? ” 

“ I did : God knows how well.” 

“ And he promised to marry you, but did not keep 
his word ? ” 

“ He promised, and I believed in him as I believed 
in God.” 

Why, then, should the lawleave the innocent to suf- 
fer, and let the guilty one go ? You intended no wrong, 
mother, was only blindly trusting ; for how could you 
love one that you could not believe in ? and how could 
you marry one that you could not love ? And, further 
than that, I am his child : I did no wrong in being his 
child, and why should I suffer ? why should I be de- 
prived of a father’s love and care ? ” 

“ You are asking hard questions, my child, too hard 
for me to answer. We must take things as they are.” 


16 


HELEN HARLOW ^8 VOW. 


“ And make them as they should be ; or, at least, try 
to do so.” 

“ It is easy to talk, Helen ; but what can one or two 
do against the multitude ? ” 

“ They can at least preserve their own self-respect so 
far as not to count themselves sinners when only sinned 
against.” 

“ What do you mean, Helen ? ” 

“ I mean that we should not accept the world’s judg- 
ment of us when we know that judgment to be wrong. 
Yourself, for instance : now, I presume that all these years 
you have been looking down upon yourself, because 
others, those perhaps who were not worthy to carry 
your shoes, despised you. For my part, I would not 
marry a man that I could not trust. Why, the Bible 
says ‘ that wives must submit themselves to their hus- 
bands ’ as unto the Lord. Great claim a man has to 
stand in the place of God to woman, if he can not be 
trusted ! ” 

“ Such talk as that sounds very fine in theory, Helen ; 
but you would find it quite a different thing in practice. 
But where did you get hold of such ideas ? I did not 
suppose you had ever thought upon these questions.” 

‘‘ Neither had I : they came to me as new as they do 
to you. I believe I am naturally confiding, and as nat- 
urally despise deception in all its forms. Be that as it 
may, I believe I am ten years older than I was two 
hours ago. I feel as if my world had been swept from 
beneath my feet, and that from henceforth I must make 
a footing for myself.” 

“ Helen, Helen ! What do you mean ? ” 

“ Nothing that I can tell you now, mother ; but rest 


THE AWAKENING. 


17 


assured that I shall never despise myself.” Then, taking 
up a lamp, she pressed a kiss upon her mother’s forehead, 
and hastened away to the quiet of her own room. 

She had spoken calmly and firmly ; but her face was 
pallid to the hue of death, and the light which flashed 
from her eyes was scorching in its intensity. 

“ O God ! What is it ? ” moaned the wretched 
woman. “ Has he won her but to betray ? If so, let 
her die. O merciful God ! hear a mother’s prayer, and 
let her die.” 

And how was it with the daughter ? Ah ! she had 
indeed lived an age in two short hours ; for in that time 
doubt had entered her soul, — had entered and probed 
to depths that she had never dreamed were there, 
depths into which she trembled to look ; for she was 
frightened at the possibilities of her own nature, — 
frightened at what she found herself capable of doing 
and bearing. She prepared herself for bed as calmly 
as ever, laid her head upon her pillow as though sleep 
was sure to come at her bidding ; but it came. not, neither 
did she try to summon it, for she was too busy with 
thought. 

On the following morning, both mother and daughter 
arose unrefreshed ; for the couch of one had been a 
couch of tears instead of rest, and the other’s a couch 
of birth : not the birth of wailing flesh and blood, but 
of a mighty resolve. A few hours had developed a self- 
sustaining power in the heart of this young girl, gigan- 
tic in its proportions. 

But few words were spoken during the morning meal. 
Helen, busy with her own thoughts, did not respond 
even by a look to her mother’s earnest, questioning gaze ; 

2 


18 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


while the expression upon her face gave that mother a 
feeling of awe not unmixed with terror. Indeed, the 
girl looked more like a roused lioness, or an eagle, that, 
caged, had resolved to be free or die, than like to a 
shrinking, timid maiden of sixteen summers. 

When the duties of the morning were done, Helen 
put on her bonnet and said, “ I shall be back before 
noon, mother.” Then, taking the path which led toward 
the little lake beyond the grove, was soon lost from sight. 

At first, Mrs. Harlow seemed inclined to follow ; but, 
upon second thought, gave it up. “ It will do no good,” 
said she to herself ; “ and she will return, for she said 
she would.” 

Helen, in the mean time, hastened toward the rustic 
seat where she had spent so many hours during the pre- 
ceding weeks with her lover. Not that she expected to 
meet him there ; but somehow it seemed to her that she 
must go there, — that she could think clearer : in a 
word, that the solution of her destiny was there. No : 
she did not expect to meet Edward Granger there ; for 
he had promised, that, on that evening, or on the Mon- 
day following at the furthest, he would come openly, 
and ask her of her mother for his wife. 

Nevertheless, she had hardly taken her seat before she 
saw him coming ; but not alone. A gentleman, some of 
the company he was expecting, thought she, was with 
him. She did not wish to meet them, but she could not 
leave without doing so ; and, quick as thought, she re- 
solved to hide. There was a projecting rock close at 
hand ; and behind this she seated herself, just as the 
young men came around a curve which brought the 
place she had vacated fully in sight. 


THE AWAKENING. 


19 


They could not see her, but she could see them, and, 
when they were seated, hear tbem too ; for, while she 
could have touched their heads by reaching her arm 
across the top of the rock, her face was completely 
screened by the thick branches of an overhanging tree. 
Edward would not find her there, would not even think 
of looking for her ; for he did not know of the spot she 
occupied. She had discovered it only a few” days before, 
while waiting for him, and had not told him of it ; for, 
maiden-like, she had resolved to hide there and watch 
him at some future time, while he waited for her. And 
now, with scarcely a moment’s thought, she found her- 
self there, and watching the movements of two instead 
of one. 

She regretted the step she had taken, when too late ; 
but only for a moment : for the first word that reached 
her ear riveted her attention, and drove every feeling 
from her heart but that of an intense desire to hear more. 

“ So this is the place where you meet that sweetheart 
of yours, is it ? ” said the stranger lightly. 

“ This is the place,” responded Granger. 

“ And the little fool thinks you are going to marry her, 
does she ? ” 

“ And so I did intend to, but ” — 

“ Did intend to ? ” 

“ Yes, I did ; for I really love the girl.” 

“ Why the devil don’t you marry her, then ? ” 

Granger shrugged his shoulders. The fact is, Reid, 
she is too yielding. A woman that can be flattered by 
me before .marriage could be flattered by some other 
man after marriage ; and I want a wife that I can rely 
upon.” 


20 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ Poor fellow ! ” laughed Reid. “ I hope you do not 
love her well enough to break your heart over the 
matter.” 

“ Don’t laugh at me, Reid ; for in my soul I wish she 
had been firm.” 

“ Well, well : now, that is rich ! But what are you 
going to do now? tell her that you have been making a 
fool of her ?” 

“ No, I can’t do that : her tears would be more than 
I could stand. She knows that I am expecting com- 
pany. I shall send her a note that my company has 
come, and will remain, so that I can not see her until 
Tuesday instead of Monday. On Monday she gets 
another, saying that I am called away on unexpected 
business ; and, once away, I shall take good care not to 
return. I have already written to rny father that I will 
marry the girl of his choice, sending at the same time a 
formal proposition for her hand ; heart she has none. If 
this girl had remained firm, I should have married for 
love ; as it is, I might as well go to the devil. But I 
would rather go with money than without it ; and Miss 
Ward has that.” 

“ And have you no pity for the ruined life of the girl 
that you confess you love ? ” asked Reid, speaking se- 
riously for the first time. 

“ I have. Will ; but that which can not stand the test 
must fall. That’s my doctrine.” 

“ Hope you will be able to abide by it, then,” said a 
steady voice close by his side. 

“ My God, Helen ! ” exclaimed Granger, starting to 
his feet. “You here?” 

“ 1 am here, sir, — here to thank you for the lesson 


THE AWAKENING. 


21 


you have taught me. It is a poor rule that won’t work 
both ways. If a woman that can be flattered by 
one man before marriage can be flattered by another 
after marriage, a man that would flatter, lie, to one 
woman before marriage would lie to her and flatter 
others after marriage ; and I want a man that I can 
trust.” 

It would have taken a skillful artist to have portrayed 
the expression of Granger’s face as Helen thus addressed 
him ; while Reid was simply astonished. 

“ You pity my ruined condition ; but those who can not 
stand must fall,” she continued, fixing her clear gray eye 
upon his with a gaze that held them. “ I want none 
of your pity, sir. And hear me, Edward Granger; 
there is no one man that can drag me down. Had you 
married me while I trusted you, you might possibly 
have led me to do what my soul condemned ; hut I 
am awake now ; my eyes are open, and it can’t be 
done. 

“ No, sir, I am not ruined ; no woman is ruined 
unless she thinks so. And I here swear in the presence 
of high Heaven that I will not sink ; that, even with 
the additional burden you have imposed upon me, I will 
rise higher than you can ever hope to rise ; and my child 
shall take a higher position than any child born of an 
unloving, heartless woman, with you for its father, can 
possibly reach.’’ And, turning from them, she walked 
away with the air of a queen by Nature’s right, instead 
of taking the position Granger had expected, — that of 
a wronged woman, seeking justice, recognition, through 
marriage with her betrayer. 


22 


HELEN HARLOWS VOW, 


“ But still the spirit that you see, 

.Undaunted by your wiles, 

Draws from its own nobility 
Its high-born smiles,” 

murmured Reid, as she passed out of sight. 

“What’s that? ” asked Granger. 

“ Only some lines I was reading the other day ; and 
they seemed so appropriate, that I could not help quoting 
them,” was the reply. 

Granger cast his eyes upon the ground, and sat for 
some moments in silence ; while Reid, in the mean time, 
was watching him. He looked up at length, and said, — 

“ By the gods ! I believe I have made a mistake, 
after all.” 

“ A mistake ! To be sure you have, Ed ; but you can’t 
rectify it now. There is the material there for the 
grandest of women, — a power that you have wakened 
into life by throwing her from you, which will yet make 
itself felt. But she will never be yours now.” 

“ She has been mine already,” said Granger dog- 
gedly. 

“ Well, never again, then ; and little cause is left you 
for satisfaction in thinking of the past. Didn’t she turn 
the tables on you well, though ! Ha, ha, ha ! Her ap- 
plication of your rule to yourself was rich : she wants 
a husband that she can trust, as well as you a wife.” 

“ Hush, Reid : don’t laugh at me, but help me to win 
back what I have lost ; for, by the gods, I will marry 
her now, if I can get her.” 

“ You can ‘ buy the gods,’ and sell them too, two or 
three times over, before you will win her back, I can 
assure you : besides, what will you do with the other 


THE AWAKENING, 


23 


one ? You have made a formal proposition for her hand, 
and she can hold you to it. Father to disinherit, and 
the lady to sue for breach of promise : betwixt them 
both, I don’t think you would have much left to support 
a wife with ; and as for your working to maintain one, 
the idea is simply ridiculous. No, no, Ed : you had bet- 
ter let the girl alone ; she will be better off without you 
than with you.” 

“ Perhaps you intend to win her for yourself? ” said 
Granger, looking up with such an air of distress that 
Reid burst into another roar of laughter. 

“ Not the least idea of it, Ed,” he replied, as soon as 
he could speak. “ I have better sense than to present 
another specimen of manly honor for her acceptance 
so soon after her experience with you : beside which, I 
am pledged in another direction, and have no desire to 
break my pledge.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! And to whom ? ” 

“ Miss Wayne, — Miss Stella Wayne of Boston.” 

“Wish you much joy, old fellow ; but must say, at 
the same time, that you are exceedingly sympathizing 
as a friend,” said Granger, in tones of bitterness. 

“ And why should I sympathize with you ? I should 
think congratulation the proper word ; for you wished to 
break with the girl, and you have done it, most effect- 
ually too. But, if you need sympathy, you shall have it. 
And, indeed, I do pity you * ‘ but those who can not 
stand the test must fall,’ you know.” 

Granger’s only reply to this was to rise and walk 
abruptly away. Reid looked after him for a moment 
with a half-amused, half-sad expression ; thea, picking up 
his hat, he followed slowly after. 


24 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


In the mean time, Helen had reached her home, and 
taken her place at her accustomed duties. Mrs. Har- 
low looked up as she entered, but did not speak ; for she 
dare not. There was a look upon the face of her child 
that told of a decision of some kind, but, whatever it 
was, an irrevocable one. At length the suspense be- 
came too great for further endurance ; and she forced 
herself to ask, “ What is it, Helen ? ” 

“ Nothing, mother ; only that your child must walk in 
the same path that you have done. 

“ Oh ! not that, not that ! He will marry you, — he 
shall ! she fairly shrieked. 

“ I sliall never marry him, mother.” 

“ Why, what have you learned ? ” 

“ I have learned from his own lips that he is a villain ; 
and I have too much self-respect to want such a char- 
acter for a husband.” 

“But what will you do? ” 

“ Live, bear it, and rise above it.” 

“ You can not : the disgrace is too great. You can 
never rise above a thing like that : no one ever does.” 

“ Then it is because no one has ever tried hard 
enough.” 

“ Oh, child, child ! how little you know of the 
world ! ” 

“ It is not so much of the world as of myself that I 
have need to know ; and I tell you, mother, that I can 
and I will conquer.” 

“ Better death than such a life, Helen.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but I shall not die : I shall live to wring 
his heart, and my father’s too. ‘ Such a life ! ’ Why, you 
are honored, respected, mother ; and why can not I be ? 


THE AWAKENING, 


25 


You have a home, and home comforts, and a child to 
love you. Surely a man’s love is not the all of life.” 

“ The protection of a man’s name is about all, to say 
the least, to a woman who is a mother. Yes, I am re- 
spected ; but how long would I be so, if the truth was 
known ? I am called Mrs. Harlow ; am supposed to be 
a widow.” 

“ That is your business, mother, not mine. I shall 
never take even the shadow of a man’s name for pro-- 
tection.'^ 

Mrs. Harlow made no reply to this last remark of 
Helen’s ; and so there was silence between them for 
several minutes. At length Helen asked, — 

“ How came you so far away from all your friends, 
mother ? ” 

“ I had no friends, Helen, — none who would stand by 
me when I most needed one. My only sister disowned 
me ; my brothers wished me dead, because I was a dis- 
grace to them and theirs ; my mother wept, and my 
father turned me out of doors. Had it not been for my 
uncle, my father’s youngest brother, whose pet and play- 
mate I had been, I might have gone to the county- 
house ; and even he, had he lived, might have turned 
against me. But, dying about a year before you were 
born, he left me the bulk of his property. I have 
always thought that my sister and brothers envied me 
for this, and, consequently, were more bitter than they 
otlierwise would have been. 

“ But it was his money that kept me from sinking en- 
tirely. After paying an exorbitant price for board and 
attendance during my sickness, I had two thousand dol- 
lars in money, and this little place, of which I knew 


26 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


nothing, except that it was some two hundred miles 
away. Sick at heart, and glad to escape from old scenes, 
I came hither. I was morally a wife, but not legally. 
My uncle’s bequest was made to me in my maiden name. 
I said I had no friend : I had one, and her name was 
Harlow, — the Widow Harlow. After the property was 
made over to me, I sold this place to her, using my first 
name, instead of hers, in making the deed. This done, she 
gave the deed to me ; for which service I paid her .one 
hundred dollars. Not that she asked it ; but she was poor, 
and, for the sake of her child, she consented to take it. I 
had this all done in another county, where there would 
be likely to be no questions asked ; and then, taking the 
money and the deed, I assumed the name of Harlow, 
and, dressing in widow’s weeds, came hither to hide my- 
self from the world I had previously known. 

“ I have always intended, when you became old enough 
to receive the attentions of gentlemen, to tell you the 
story of your birth ; for I thought that that, if nothing 
else, would save you from a like fate.” 

“ And did my father remain where he was ? ” 

“ He did. The fault of his youth was overlooked. In 
^'time he became a respected citizen, a judge in the 
county court ; and, his first wife dying, he is to-day the 
husband, of the sister who cast me off.” 

“ And you, my poor mother, had to flee your country, 
to resort to subterfuge and even crime, to save your- 
self from further degradation ! O God ! ” she ex- 
claimed, with clasped hands and upturned eyes, “ help 
woman to help herself! ” 

“ Woman is helpless,” groaned the mother. 

“ Of course she is, so long as she thinks so ; but no 


THE AWAKENING. 


27 


loncrer. ‘ God helps those who help themselves ; ’ and I 
believe it, mother.” 

“ Yes ; but what can one do alone ? ” 

“ Maintain her own self-respect, at least ; and I in- 
tend to do more.” 

The mother looked upon her child, and wondered ; 
but nothing further was said. 

Some two weeks afterward, Helen saw the an- 
nouncement of the marriage of Edward Granger, Esq., 
to Miss Ella, only daughter of the Hon. W. E. Ward 

of . She read it, and smiled a bitter smile, but 

made no comment. 

Great was the excitement in the little community 
when it was knowm that Helen Harlow was likelv to 
become a mother ; but Helen kept her own council. 
She would give them no satisfaction ; neither would she 
consent that her mother should. Her only reply to 
their questioning was, “ The child is mine, and I expect 
to take care of it ; and that is enough.” 

The storm of persecution raged terribly for a wdiile, — 
so much so, that Mrs. Harlow proposed to sell out, and 
leave the place; but Helen still said, “No, mother: I 
can die, but I will not run ; ” and finally things calmed 
down, took the form of settled contempt, and the two 
lone women were left to themselves. 

Two lone women, objects of the world’s bitter hate, 
because they, or at least the youngest and fairest, had 
dared to brave its injustice, had refused to be crushed 
at its bidding ! A shameless, bold-faced hussy, they 
called her, — one destitute of all womanly feeling; and all 
because she suffered, and gave no sign of the anguish 
upon which they had thought to feast. For a martyr 


. 28 HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 

triumphing in the midst of the flames they liad no 
sympathy. 

For two years after the birth of her boy, Helen Har- 
low remained at Lake Grove; but giving no sign the 
while to the outside world, nor yet even to her 
mother, further than could be judged from an occa- 
sional remark, of the purpose, the plans, of her future 
life. 

By judicious questioning, she had learned her father’s 
name and place of residence, and her boy was called for 
him ; also the first name of the woman who had be- 
friended her mother. One morning, soon after little 
Charles’s second birthday, she said very quietly, — 

“ Mother, I am going away. I can not tell just how 
long I shall be absent, perhaps for several months; but 
I want you to take good care of my boy till I return.” 

Mrs. Harlow looked up with a question upon her 
lips ; but the expression upon Helen’s face told her that 
it would be of no use to ask it, and so she was silent. 
The little community was again thrown into a buzz of 
excitement. Where had she gone? and when would she 
return ? And, failing to satisfy their curiosity, they 
very charitably decided that she had gone where the 
like of her ought to go. “ What else could be ex- 
pected, to be sure ? ” 




A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


29 


- CHAPTER n. 

A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


“ Ah, yes I when years have fled, 

The ghost of past misdeeds takes form 
Within the living present, — a living. 

Not a ghostly form. Shrink as we may, 
Still we must meet and grapple with 
The stern reality, till pang for pang 
Makes good the claim of justice.” — L. W. 



UDGE EDSON sat within his cosy office, 
thinking, deeply thinking. A glass of 
Rhenish wine had quickened his great 
brain to action, and now the choice 
Havana strengthened its cogitations. An 
lonorable man this judge, — a most honorable man; and 
care he had for good of State, its wealth and power, 
its moral power ; for he a Christian was, and claimed 
that only those, who, sanctified by grace of God, had 
thus been fitted for the place, had right to hold the 
reins of power. 

This man, this Christian judge, had, in his youth, 
been somewhat wild, — had sown “wild oats;” but 
now, redeemed, made pure, a child of God, he never 
should be called to reap that crop. Let children of the 
Evil One do that : ’twas fit they should. And so this 
Christian man sat there, and thought great thoughts of 
woman’s love of dress, her recklessness of cost, its eyil 


30 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


tendency, how it was dragging down the world, that 
else would rise to higher planes of purity. What should 
be done ? how could a stop be put thereto ? 

What tlie conclusion might have been when cleared 
from smoke, the world will never know ; for, lo ! a 
knock, a woman’s knock, breaks in upon the train of his 
reflections. “ Come,” he was about to say ; but, check- 
ing himself, he arose and opened the door. 

“ Is this Judge Edson’s office ? ” asked a quiet, firm 
voice. 

“ It is. Will you walk in ? ” said he, in his most 
deferential tones, to the veiled figure before him. 

“ Charles Edson, son of F. W. Edson ? ” 

“ The same, madam, or ” — 

“ Miss, if you please.’^ 

“ The same, miss. Take a seat,” he continued, hand- 
ing her at the same time the best chair in the room. He 
had noted, in the mean time, the perfect symmetry of 
her form, and decided that she must be handsome ; but 
this he could not know positively, for the lady still kept 
her face veiled. 

“ May I know whom I have the honor of address- 
ing?” he asked after a pause. 

“ Presently. I wish to ask you a few questions first.” 

“ Certainly, certainly. I shall consider myself honored 
if I can serve you in any manner.” 

“ Mr. Edson, have you a family ? ” 

“ I have,” he replied, wondering within himself what 
connection that fact could have with the stranger’s 
business. 

“ How large a family ? ” 

“ A wife and four children.” 


A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


31 


“ Sons, or daughters ? ” 

“ All sons,” he answered, wondering more and more 
at this strange questioning. 

“ Are these the children of your second or third 
wife ? ” 

“ My second or third wife ! What is the meaning of 
this ? I have no third wife.” 

“ Nothing strange, sir, that you should count out a 
wife as well as a child ; but the woman you are now 

living with is your third wife, and you have a 

daughter.” 

“ ’Tis false ! ” exclaimed the judge, springing to his 
feet. ‘‘ And who are you, that you dare to make such 
an assertion ?” 

The veil was thrown back, and a pair of clear gray 
eyes met his own. “ I am Helen Edson, the daughter 

of your first wife. So far as the spirit of marriage is 

concerned, she was your wife ; though you were honor- 
able enough to cheat her out of the form, and cast her 
off, that you might take to your pure bosom another 
bride.” 

“ My God ! ” groaned the judge, as he sank back 
into his seat, and fixed his eyes on the speaker with a 
look of blank terror. “ What do you want ? ” he 
at length gasped. 

“ Mr. Edson, by no fault of theirs you are the 
father of five children. Through the action of your 
life they came into existence ; and they, each and all, 
one no more than the other, have claims upon you.” 
The speaker paused to note the effect of her words ; and 
the judge, as he marked the approach to his pocket, as- 
sumed a cold and hard expression, while the single 
ejaculation “ Ah ! ” escaped his lips. 


32 


UELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ Yes,” continued the girl, after a moment’s silence : 
“they have claims upon you, — claims such as one 
who sits in the seat of judgment, and metes out justice 
to his fellow-men, should be perfectly willing to ac- 
cord.” Again the calm gray eye was fixed upon the 
judge, till, growing restless beneath its power, he again 
asked, “ What do you want ? ” 

“ It would have been more fatherly to have said, 
‘ What do you want, my child ? ’ but it matters not. I 
have lived without a father’s love till now, and can con- 
tinue to do so,” she added in tones half mocking, half 
sad ; “ but I will tell you what I want, and what I in- 
tend to have. You ” — 

“ Do you threaten ? ” he demanded in an excited 
tone. 

“ Not unless you make it necessary, sir ; but I was 
about to comply with yuur request by telling you what 
I want. You have a large farm, an extensive practice, 
five children, and five thousand dollars in the bank. 
One of those children, the eldest, and a daughter, has 
never received a father’s care nor a dollar of his money ; 
and she now asks that one of those five thousands be 
paid into her own hands for her exclusive use and con- 
trol. Is that too much ? ” 

“Too much or not, it is more than you will ever 
get. Girl, what do you mean by coming here with a 
tale like this ? And, even if it were true, how do I 
know that you are the child ? that you are not an 
impostor ? ” 

For all answer to this, Helen Harlow, or Edson, as 
the true name was, sprang to her feet, and, taking the 
judge by the arm, brought him directly in front of the 


A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


33 


mirror, placing herself beside him in such a manner that 
the light from the lamp fell fairly upon both faces. 
“ Look ! ” said she, “ and call me an impostor if you 
dare.” 

He did look ; and the resemblance was too apparent 
to be denied. 

“Do you wish me to go through the length and 
breadth of your town with that face uncovered ? ” she 
asked. 

“ I presume you have done that now,” he replied, 
with a tremor in his voice which showed that he 
feared it. 

“ Do not judge me by yourself, if I am your child,” 
she responded. “ I should scorn to threaten that which 
I had already done.” 

“ But what good would it do you ? ” 

“ None ; only as a weapon to force a judge to jus- 
tice.” 

“ Force ! And do you dare use the word force to 
me ? ” he thundered. 

“ Why, father, if ‘ neither words nor grass will do, I . 
must try what virtue there is in stones.’ I read that 
long ago in an old-fashioned book ; and you know the 
moral, I suppose. If not, I will repeat it : ‘ If kind 
'words and gentle means will not reclaim the wicked, 
they must be dealt with in a more severe manner.’ ” 

Judge Edson was, for the moment, fairly nonplussed. 
He knew from the look in the girl’s eye that she would 
dare any thing ; and to have that old story “ raked up ” 
from beneath the ashes of so many years was more than 
he dared to think of. For a moment he felt inclined to 
grant her request, and let her go ; but, his anger getting 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


^ i 
o± 

the better of his judgment, he opened the door and 
said, — 

“ Go ; and never dare to call me father again.’’ 

She arose, bowed, said very coolly, “ You are ex- 
cited, father. I will wait till you have had time to 
think of this matter, and then call again. Good-night;” 
and, gliding past him like a spirit, she was gone. 

For a few moments the judge felt relieved ; and then, 
his fears returning upon him with redoubled force, he 
would fain have called her back, but it was too late. 
For some days after the above occurrence, J udge Edson 
exhibited a nervousness of manner so unlike his usual 
self, that it attracted the attention of his friends. He 
accounted for it by saying that he believed he was not 
well. He would start at every sound ; try to catch 
every word of any conversation going on near him ; 
watch for every new face, and especially for every veiled 
one : but, seeing nor hearing nothing further of his un- 
welcome visitor, he began to hope that the matter was 
at an end ; that her real aim was to frighten him ; and, 
this done, nothing further would be attempted. 

“ Surely,” said he to himself, “she is not fool enough 
to think she can get a thousand dollars from me ! ” 

Vain hope! Some two weeks afterwards, court was 
held in the place, and Judge Edson presided. A case of* 
the most interesting character was to be tried ; and peo- 
])le were there from all parts of the district. The court- 
room was crowded ; and all was going on swimmingly, 
when the judge was seen to pale suddenly, and put his 
hand out as if to keep himself from falling. “ Only a 
little faintness ; but it is gone now,” said he to the as- 
sistant judge, who sprang to help him. 


A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


35 


The momentary confusion past, he looked again ; and 
again the veil was raised, till he met the full gaze of the 
clear gray eye. Yes, there she was, and no mistake ; 
and, should she unveil herself to that audience, the re- 
semblance could not fail to attract attention. Would 
she do it ? And, though forced to wear the appearance 
of calmness, the strong man quaked internally, as though 
stricken with an ague-fit. 

“ Coward ! ” said Helen to herself, as she looked upon 
him. “ If he quakes thus in my presence, how will he 
meet death and the judgment ? If he trembles in the 
presence of his child, how will he stand before his 
Maker ? ” 

But the trial went on without further interruption ; 
and none but the parties concerned knew of that other 
trial, in which the judge himself was prisoner, and a fair 
young mother both judge and jury. 

It may seem strange to a superficial observer, that 
Judge Edson should so shrink from having the “ indis- 
cretion ” of his youth brought to the notice of the public 
again ; and more especially as he was well aware that 
the older residents of the place knew of it already. But 
men, notwithstanding their superior physical strength, 
are really more cowardly than women. They will leave 
a woman to bear disgrace, to meet the world’s scorn, 
alone : they will do this oftentimes, not because they 
really mean to be villains, but because they are too cow- 
ardly to share the disgrace which they are the chief 
actors in incurring. 

True, the older residents knew of the past ; but “ out 
of sight, out of mind ” was applicable here as well as 
elsewhere. So many years had passed, and all traces 


36 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


of that folly had so long since disappeared, that, doubt- 
less, they seldom thought of it. And, further, the town 
was not one-half as large then as now ; and many who 
were there then had since removed to other places : so 
that, altogether, there were comparatively but a few who 
knew it ; and they would be likely to think of it but 
seldom, unless something should occur to bring it to 
their minds anew. And, more tlian all, he was simply 
Charles Edson then, — a young man, and but little 
known : now he was an honorable judge, and had a 
good prospect, through the suffrage of the people, of 
being chosen representative at the next election. 

So you see that he was really in trouble ; for, if Helen 
made good her threat, her likeness to him, in connection 
with former facts, would establish her claim in the minds 
of the people ; and would they vote for him then ? But, 
if he gave her the thousand, and sent her away, it would 
make so large a draft upon his ready money, that he 
could not spend what he wished to for electioneering 
purposes. As it generally proves with those who refuse 
responsibilities that belong to them, that which he had 
ignored had come back to him with interest, and at a 
time when he could least bear it. 

Well, those that sow must reap; and, if we refuse 
the first crop, it becomes self-sowing, with increased 
harvests that still await our hands. 

Just before the closing of the court, the veiled figure 
retired, and the judge felt relieved when no longer con- 
scious of the criticism of those quiet gray eyes. But the 
relief was only temporary ; for, as he emei’ged from the 
building, the same figure moved to his side, and placed a 
note in his hand. He thrust it quickly into his pocket, 


A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


37 


glancing around at the same time to see if the movement 
was noticed. 

“ Who is she ? ” asked a voice at his elbow. And 
there stood the man who of all others he could have 
wished elsewhere, — his opponent in the coming elec- 
tion. 

“A stranger, I should judge from her appearance. I 
did not see her face.” 

“ Business, of course,” said the other, in a tone that 
brought the blood to the judge’s face. 

“ I presume I can inform you when I have myself 
learned the import thereof,” said he, with a freezing dig- 
nity that forbade further questioning. 

“ I will bid you good-evening then,” replied the ques- 
tioner, in a manner that nettled the judge worse than 
ever. 

I will not attempt to give my readers the sum and 
substance of the judge’s reflections as he hastened home ; 
but will leave to them the pleasing task, if pleasing it be, 
of imagining for themselves the nature thereof. 

Once safe at home in his own room, and the door 
locked, he proceeded to read Helen’s note. It con- 
tained the not very pleasing intelligence that the writer 
could not wait much longer for a decision upon the mat- 
ter under consideration ; and requested his presence that 
evening at Mrs. Mary Harlow’s, between the hours of 
seven and eight o’clock. 

“ Good heavens I this girl will drive me mad ! ” was 
his mental ejaculation. “ I am engaged out with my 
wife this evening ; and it will not do to put her off, that 
is certain. O these unyielding, tyrannical women ! 
how much happier I should have been, had I married 


38 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


this girl’s motlier in the first place. And they are sis- 
ters too! Well, I might have known that a woman 
who would cast off her own sister, and afterward marry 
the man who ruined her, — I might have known that 
she would not make a very loving or lovable wife. But 
what am I to do ? ” 

The answer to the above question finally took the fol- 
lowino; form : — 

“ Miss Helen, — It is utterly impossible for me to 
see you to-night ; but I can come to-morrow evening at 
the hour named, if convenient to you.” 

This written, the next question was as to how it 
should be sent ^ for our brave judge had become 
strangely timid, and seemed to imagine that everybody 
was thinkino; of and lookino; after him. He took his 
hat, and sauntered out ; and by the merest chance, of 
course, he soon found himself in the vicinity of Mrs. 
Harlow’s dwelling. A small boy was trundling his hoop 
near the door ; to him the note was given, together with 
a dime, if he would give it to the young lady, having 
first penciled upon the back of it, “ Tell the boy to say 
to me, ‘ Yes,’ if you can see me then.” 

Helen smiled as she read the note, gave the required 
‘Yes,’ and then handed it to her friend. 

“ He will be here, and will comply with your demand 
too,” was that lady’s quiet response. 

The lad, as he came out of the gate, shouted to the 
judge, who was walking at a little distance, “ She says 
‘ Yes ; too eager to return to his hoop to take the time 
to approach near enough to give the reply in an ordinary 
tone. 

The judge now' quickened his footsteps, but had not 


A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


39 


walked a half a square before he saw Mr. Green, the 
political opponent who had so annoyed him some two 
hours before, corning around the corner. 

Now, Ml’. Green had neither seen nor heard any thing 
of the above : but it seemed to the excited imagination 
of Edson as if all things were conspiring against him ; 
and he mentally resolved that Helen should' leave the 
place, if he had to pay her two thousand dollars, instead 
of one." 

The next evening, at the appointed hour, the judge 
was at the place designated. But Helen was not alone in 
the little parlor : her friend, Mrs. Harlow, was quietly 
seated, with work in hand, and gave no indication of 
leaving. 

‘‘ Mr. Edson,” said Helen, after a few moments’ silence, 
“ the presence of this lady will make no difference with 
what we have to say. She is a friend of my mother’s, 
knew her, and stood by her when you betrayed and for- 
sook her ; and I desire her to remain as a witness of 
what is said and done here to-night.” 

The judge “ hem’d, haw’d,” cleared his throat some 
two or three times, and finally said, — 

“ Well, miss, do you still persist in the absurd claim 
that you made the other night ? ” 

“ I persist in the claim, Mr. Edson, — a claim that is 
most just; though it may seem absurd to you, judge as 
yon are called, that justice should be done.” 

The judge winced. “ But justice and your conception 
thereof may not be exactly the same thing, miss.” 

“ Edson, if you please,” said Helen coolly. 

“I deny it: you have no legal right to that name,” 
said the judge excitedly. 


40 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“No legal right, but an actual right, sir, — the right 
of having the same blood in my veins, but not the honor ; 
for I do not consider it an honor.” 

“ And do you think to gain your point by insulting 
me, girl ? ” 

“Just as you can afford, sir,” 'was the quiet reply. 

There was silence for several seconds, and again the 
judge burst forth with, “ It is because you think you 
have me in your power, that you would thus take adr 
vantage of me. You deserve to be prosecuted for trying 
to get money under false pretenses.” : 

“ I have made no false pretenses, Mr. Edson ; and, if 
you are in my power, you placed yourself there, when 
you gave me being.” 

Mrs. Harlow now spoke, for the first time. “Judge 
Edson, it looks well for you to talk of being taken ad- 
vantage of because one has the power, considering the 
course you pursued toward this girl’s mother ! ” 

“ And have you known, all these years, where she 
was ? ” was the unexpected reply to this thrust. 

“ I have, sir.” 

“ I might have known it ; for I now remember that it 
was you to whom she sold her Western land. What be- 
came of that land ? ” 

“ I suppose it is there yet : I do not imagine that any 
one has carried it away.” 

Helen laughed at this retort ; while the judge amend- 
‘ed by saying, “ You know what I mean, Mrs. Harlow : 
who owns it now ? ” 

“ I sold it long ago ; and it could have changed hands 
a dozen times since.” 

“ Well, well : I don’t care about the land ; but I wish 


A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


41 


I could have known where Julia was when Susan 
died.” 

‘‘ And why do you wish that ? ” 

“ I would have married her ; that is — if she had not 
been married already.” 

“ You would ! ” said Helen in a tone of cutting irony. 

The judge looked up, as if at loss to divine her 
meaning. 

“ V ery certain that she would have accepted you ! ” 
she continued in the same tone. 

“Of course, Helen,” said Mrs. Harlow. “ The possi- 
bility that a woman who has been in a man’s power 
could say ‘ No ’ to him has never once entered the judge’s 
thoughts.” 

“ I see,” answered Helen. “ Man expects only forgive- 
ness and love from woman, no matter how much he 
may have wronged her. He can bring her into dis- 
grace, leave her in sorrow and loneliness for years, and 
then expect that she wdll, of course, be only too glad to 
accept him when he chooses to say the word. But it 
seems that we have, wandered from the subject. I want 
your decision, Mr. Edson, upon another question than 
marriage.” 

Again there was silence in the room, broken, at last, 
by the question, “ And suppose I accede to your de- 
mands ? ” 

“ I will return to my home, and give you no further 
trouble,” was the reply. 

“ And where is your home ? ” 

“ That question has no bearing whatever upon the 
business in hand,” was the prompt response. 

“ But what security have I that you will keep your 
promise ? ” 


42 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ The assurance of one who has never yet proved false 
to her word, if she is your child.” The quiet eyes were 
fixed upon him as if she would read his very soul, as she 
uttered these cutting words. 

Another silence. Judge Edson seemed to be in the 
condition of one who has a troublesome tooth, and has 
determined that it must be pulled, but still shrinks from 
the final wrench. 

“ What name shall I use, if I fill out a draft for you?” 
he asked at length. 

“I do not think you had better fill out a draft for 
me,” she replied. 

“ Why?” he questioned, with evident surprise. 

“ Because you will defeat your own object, — that of 
secrecy. The fact of my calling for so much money, as 
coming from you, will be noted and commented upon ; 
and more especially at this time, when your political op- 
ponents are on the lookout for something from which to 
make capital against you.” 

“ And you have taken all these things into considera- 
tion ? ” he exclaimed in a tone of bitterness. 

“ Certainly, sir : if strategy is used in compassing an 
unholy end, may it not also be used in attaining the ends 
of justice?” 

“ But what would you have me do, if I am not to fill 
out a draft ? ” 

“It seems to me, sir, that you are not very clear- 
headed for a judge. Can you not draw the money your- 
self, and bring it to me? ” 

“ When?” 

“ To-morrow evening, so that I can be in readiness to 
take the stage on the following morning.” 


A JUDGE IN TROUBLE. 


43 


“ I will do so,’’ he responded, jerking the words out 
as if they choked him. “ I wish you good-evening ! ” 
And, taking his hat, he moved off, as though relieved 
of a heavy load. 

Indeed, he was surprised at himself: the sensation was 
so new and strange, — that of feeling that he had, in 
part at least, compensated for the wrong of the long ago. 
He was true to his promise. The money was forthcoming ; 
and, notwithstanding his forebodings, he was successful 
as a candidate ; went to the State Legislature, and made 
his mark there too ; and afterward, while analyzing his 
own feelings in tracing the causes which led to his elec- 
tion, he came to the honest conclusion that that thou- 
sand dollars had more to do with his success than any 
other one thing. 

“ For,” said he, in talking with an intimate friend 
upon the subject, “ I did not know how heavy a load I 
was carrying, till a portion of it was removed. The 
consciousness of wrong-doing, even though that wrong 
was so far in the past, weighed upon my spirit ; and that 
act of partial justice so lightened the load, that the sun- 
shine of my soul, lighting up my features, drew more to 
me than the money would have done, I verily believe.” 




44 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


CHAPTER III. 

CHARITABLE CONCLUSIONS. 

“ The voice of charity is kind ; 

She thinketh nothing wrong : 

To every fault she seemeth blind, 

Nor vaunteth with her tongue. 

“ In penitence she placeth faith; 

Hope smileth at her door ; 

Relieveth first, then softly saith, 

‘ Gro, hr other, sin no more.’ ” 

“ Neither do I condemn thee : go, and sin no more.” — Bible. 



ILLIAM REID was standing on the 
steps of Lighthouse Inn, so called from 
the fact that its east chamber overlooked 
the little lake, and a light placed therein 
served as a guide to parties sailing upon 
its bosom the pleasant autumn evenings. 

It was the first time that he had been in the vicinity 
since the visit made on that memorable time when Helen 
had so startled him and Granger by her sudden and 
unexpected appearance. Change had been busy with his 
life-line, crossing it once with the bridal wreath, and 
again with the cypress and the shroud. And now, with 
his heart filled with tender memories of the vinelike 
nature whose loving arms had clung to him till loosened 
by death, his thoughts would wander toward the fair girl 
so deeply wronged, and yet so strong in her self-assertion. 


CHAHITABLE' CONCLUSIONS. 


45 


“ I wonder if she is still here ? and how she has stood 
the storm?” he mentally asked. 

William Reid had good cause to remember Helen Har- 
low; for she had changed the current of his life-thoughts, 
and made a better man of him. Her application of 
Granger’s rules to himself had started a train of ideas, 
which, matured, had given him better, more just con- 
ceptions of life’s relations, and thereby transformed the 
comparatively thoughtless youth into the reflecting man. 
He was standing just at that point of life in which a 
word, a breath of influence, may fix the character of 
future years, either for good or ill ; he was standing 
just there, when her firm self-assertion opened his eyes 
to the great wrong that man and society at large is-con- 
stantly inflicting upon woman. 

And, more than this, it had taught him to wonder at 
the readiness with which woman acquiesces in this 
wrong ; yielding to man’s demand for the abnegation of 
self-respect, when it must fall upon herself, and joining 
with him, yea, even going beyond him, in enforcing it 
against others. “ Why is it?” was the question, that, 
in such a state of mind, he very naturally asked ; but, 
as yet, he had not found the solution. 

“ I wonder if she is still here ? ” And, thus musing, he 
instinctively took the path leading to the retreat occupied 
by Granger and himself when she had burst in upon 
them, looking so like a goddess, with wrath roused to the 
white heat, — that steady heat from which undying 
purposes are formed. 

Reaching the place, he had the curiosity to examine it, 
in order to find how it was that she was so near to them 
as to hear what they said, and yet so completely hidden 


46 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


from them. Having found the spot, he very naturally 
seated himself in it. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he 
did not notice the approach of another party, till it was 
too late to retreat. Two ladies had, almost before he 
was aware, taken the seat occupied by him and Granger 
on the former occasion. 

^“Well, really,” saidjie to himself : “ this place seems 
to be fated to be one of adventure to me.” 

Prompted by a sense of honor, he was about to make 
his presence known, when the words, “ For my part, I 
think that Helen Harlow manifests an amount of brazen- 
fazed hardihood perfectly astounding for one so young,” 
fell upon his ear, and made him wish to hear more. 

“ She has returned, you say ? ” was the response. 

“Yes, she came last week; and black Susan tells me 
that she bought herself and her mother a nice new 
dress, some things for her Toy, and a number of very 
nice books : and now, where does the money come fromV* 

“ There is but one answer to that, I fear. But what 
else could you expect from one who could do as she has 
done, and then justify herself in it?” 

“ Yes ; but why couldn’t she stay away when she was 
away, instead of coming back here to tempt our hus- 
bands, brothers, and sons? For my part, I don’t intend 
to put up with it. She shall leave the place, if we have 
to burn the house over her head.” 

“ So far as that is concerned, I am not afraid of my 
husband’s going there.” 

“ Neither am I of mine. I have perfect confidence in 
him, — that is, as much as I have in any man. I think 
the best of them need watching.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but we have no evidence that any one 


CHARITABLE CONCLUSIONS. 


47 


about here ever goes there. And as to burning the house, 
that would be too bad; poor Mrs. Harlow has trouble 
enough now.” 

‘‘ Neither can we learn who is the father of her child. 
It may be your husband or mine, for aught we know.” 

Nonsense ! ” 

“ Nonsense or not, Mrs. Sherwood, when one is so sly, 
we never know what to expect. I do not believe that 
even her mother knows where she has been : for I count 
myself no fool when I undertake a thing; and I am sure, 
that, if she did know, I could have picked it out of her.” 

“ What does Helen say about it ? ” 

“ I have not heard her say any thing ; but Susan says 
that she overheard her saying something to her mother 
about her father.” 

“ Her father ! I thought he was dead.” 

“ Well, that don’t make it so. For my part, I don’t 
believe that Mrs. Harlow herself is any better than she 
should be. You know, Mrs. Sherwood, that we could 
never get her into the church. Our minister — perhaps 
you don’t reniember the one we had when she first came 
here- — well, he was one of the most interesting men I 
ever knew ; and the heart that wouldn’t melt under his 
ministrations must have been very hard indeed. He 
used to call on, talk, and pray with her ; but it was of no 
use. He told me, that if God did not, in his infinite 
mercy, interfere in her behalf, there could be no hope 
for her.” 

‘‘ That is bad, very bad.” 

“So I think; and, beside, if she has any friends or 
relatives anywhere, where are they? and why don’t she 
write to them or hear from them ? ” 


48 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


“ Perhaps she does. I liardly think, Mrs. Grant, that 
it is exactly in accordance with the spirit of true charity 
to decide that a thing is wrong because we do not under- 
stand it.” 

“Certainly not. I was telling husband, only last 
night, that we ought to be more charitable, and espe- 
cially toward our brothers and sisters in the church, 
Here’s poor Brother Smith : how they have scandalized 
him. But I don’t believe a word of it, I don’t. We 
should remember. Sister Sherwood, that there is our 
poor fallen nature to contend with, and the world’s peo- 
ple trying to drag us down all the time. That’s just 
what I think ; we should be more charitable.” 

“ But what reason have you for thinking that she does 
not write to or hear from her friends ? ” 

“Well, you see, it seemed rather strange to me that 
she never talked about them ; and I have thought of it 
so much, especially since this affair of Helen’s : so I in- 
quired of the postmaster; and he tells me, that, once in 
a great while, there is a letter addressed to a Mrs. Har- 
low somewhere in Maine ; and, after about so long a time, 
there is certain to come a letter addressed to this Mrs. 
Harlow ; and that these letters are always in the same 
handwriting, — that is, there are none sent from this 
office to other individuals that are in the same hand- 
writing with those sent to the Mrs. Harlow I have 
spoken of ; and all that come to the Mrs. Harlow here 
are in the same hand.” 

“Well, really, Mrs. Grant, you have taken more 
pains than I should ever have thought of doing.” 

“ It takes me to find out things, Mrs. Sherwood ; and 
you know the good Book says that we must be ‘ as wise 
as serpents,’ as well ‘ as harmless as doves.’ ” 


CUARITABLE CONCLUSIONS. 


49 


“ Mighty harmless you are ! ” thought Reid, as he 
listened. 

“ But this is not all,” continued our female spy. “ I 
think, when w^e have doubtful characters amongst us, 
that we have a right to learn what we can in any lawful 
manner which may present itself ; indeed, that any 
means are lawful that will unearth crime. Paul says 
that ‘ all things are lawful,’ — he was talking of Chris- 
tians, to be sure, — that ‘all things are lawful ; but all 
things are not expedient.’ 

“ Well, I once asked Mrs. Harlow what her maiden 
name was ; and her reply was, ‘ Harlow. I did not 
change my name in marrying.’ And, when I ques- 
tioned her further of her relatives, she answered, 

“ ‘ Our family band has been broken by death, and 
there are but few of us left.’ And I had hardly left 
the house, when that brazen-faced creature, Helen, said 
so loudly that I heard it, — 

“ ‘ Why didn’t you tell her it was none of her busi- 
ness, mother ? ’ 

“ ‘ None of my business, indeed ! I will show you, 
miss, whether it is my business or not,’ thought 1. So 
I wrote to the place from which Mrs. Harlow said she 
came when she came here, and received for reply that 
no one of the name had ever resided there. I then 
wrote to the place where those letters that go from this 
office to a Mrs. Harlow are always directed, and learned 
that there had never been but one person there of that 
name, and she was there still. So, you see, Mrs. Sher- 
wood, that there is something wrong somewhere.” 

“ I fear tliat there is. But what can we do about 
it?” 

4 


50 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ Drive them away, as I said. But here comes Sallie 
Shaw, and Mrs. Fitzhammer, the lawyer’s wife. How 
do you do, ladies ? I am so glad to meet you ! ” 

“ How do you do, Mrs. Grant? And Mrs. Sherwood 
too? Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, I must say. 
Mrs. Fitzhammer, Mrs. Sherwood, — a new acquisition 
to our little society.” 

“What’s the news, Sallie?” asked Mrs. Grant, as 
soon as they were fairly seated. 

Miss Shaw, a maiden lady of uncertain age, drew 
herself up somewhat stiffly. 

“ Mrs. Grant, I wish you would call me by my real 
name, instead of by that childish pet-name.” 

“ Indeed, Sarah, I forgot myself entirely.” 

“ Oh ! of course, it is pardonable in an old friend like 
you, Mrs. Grant : still, it has become such a habit with 
my particular friends, that, if I do not protest, every 
one will be calling me so ; and that would not be quite 
so pleasant.” 

“I think,” said Mrs. Fitzhammer, “that young ladies 
like yourself. Miss Shaw, should always be addressed as 
Miss. This calling one by the first name does well 
enough for children ; but, with grown people, it has a 
Quakerish sort of look, that is really not very genteel.” 

“ I think you are quite right, Mrs. Fitzhammer,” said 
Miss Shaw : “ but you must recollect that we have not 
had the advantages of city-life as you have ; and, if you 
will be so good as to overlook our mistakes, we hope to 
profit somewhat by being in your society.” 

Mrs. Fitzhammer smiled graciously, and Miss Shaw 
continued, — 

“ You asked for the news, Mrs. Grant. The latest 


CHARITABLE CONCLUSIONS. 


51 


that I have heard is, that that detestable Helen Harlow 
has returned. Too bad, isn’t it, that we should have 
such characters in our midst ? ” 

“ J ust what we were talking about when you came 
up.” 

“ This Helen Harlow, Mrs. Fitzhammer,” said Miss 
Shaw, turning to her friend, ‘‘ is one of those shameless 
creatures that a pure woman blushes to mention ; and, 
of course, as she has been absent from the place, you 
have not heard her named since you have been here.” 

“Helen Harlow! Helen Harlow I Yes: that’s the 
name, I am sure,” said Mrs. Fitzhammer. 

“What?” “What is it?” “ Do you know her ? ” 
questioned the three ladies in chorus. 

“No, I do not know her ; but I am certain that it is 
the same one who is making cousin Ella Granger so 
unhappy.” 

“Indeed!” “ Pray tell us about it.” “I thought 
that we should get a clew some time,” were the simulta- 
neous utterances. 

“ The facts of the case are these, ladies,” said Mrs. 
Fitzhammer. “ Cousin Ella Ward of Tipton was mar- 
ried some three years since to a man by the name of 
Granger.” 

“ Edward Granger ? ” asked Mrs. Grant. 

“The same,” was the reply. 

“ I knew him well, Mrs. Fitzhammer. He used to 
visit here ; and, at one time, I fancied that he was in 
love with our Sarah here.” 

“ O Mrs. Grant ! what nonsense ! ” 

“ Of course, my dear, there was nothing in it. He was 
a splendid fellow, though. And so he married a cousin 


52 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


of yours, Mrs. Fitzhammer ? Well, this is really inter- 
esting news : I feel as if we were old friends, almost. I 
must tell my husband of this ; for he always thought so 
much of Mr. Granger, that he will be only too happy to 
make your acquaintance.” 

“ But what of Helen Harlow ? ” asked Miss Shaw in 
an impatient tone ; for she did not like being reminded 
so pointedly of the failure of her plans in reference to 
Mr. Granger. 

“Yes; that is what I was going to tell you, ladies. 
The engagement was a short one, he seeming unwilling 
to wait; and cousin, in her innocence, imagined that it 
was from the ardor of his attachment. But her married 
life has not been a happy one.” 

“ And this Helen Harlow is the cause of it ! ” ex- 
• claimed Mrs. Grant. 

“ I am certain that is the name,” continued Mrs. Fitz- 
hammer. “ Cousin now thinks that Granger married 
her for her money, and that he loves some one else.” 

“ Poor woman ! ” sighed Miss Shaw. 

“ Cousin says that they had not been married a month . 
before Mr. Granger took to having absent, gloomy spells ; 
and that, at such times, he is sure to be restless in his 
sleep ; will mutter and complain ; and that, sometimes, 
she can understand a word or two. Once she heard 
him say, ‘ Helen, darling ; ’ and at another time, ‘ Helen, 
don’t, don’t leave me ; ’ and once she caught another 
name, which she says sounded like Harlin, Harlow, or 
something of the kind. He has been absent for the last 
month, ^b^n to New-York City, he says. He only re- 
turned last week ; and I received a letter from her to- 
day. But she thinks that he has been with this Helen.” 


CHARITABLE CONCLUSIONS. 


53 


“ There, Mrs. Sherwood : I knew that my suspicions 
were not groundless ! ” cried Mrs. Grant. “ I don’t 
feel so about things for nothing. It’s a warning, — this 
suspicion that will come in spite of us.” 

“ I fear you are right,” said Mrs. Sherwood. 

“ Of course, I ^ am. When we do right, our good 
angels are sure to warn us by making us shrink from 
unworthy characters.” 

“ Do you really believe that ? ” asked Miss Shaw. 

“ Of course I do. The Bible says that they, the 
angels as I understand it, are ministering spirits, sent 
forth to minister to the heirs of salvation. And what is 
the use of ministering spirits, if they cannot minister 
unto us, — cannot make their warnings and encourage- 
ments felt in some manner ? ” 

“ I know, Mrs. Grant, that it looks reasonable ; but 
then the angels are so holy, and we so sinful, that I al- 
ways shrink when I think of it,” said Mrs. Sherwood 
with a sigh. 

“ I don’t know why we should be too humble to 
accept what God promises. Sister Sherwood. It seems 
to me that you lack in faith. Why, when our good 
minister sings, — 

‘ Angels now are hovering round us, 

Unperceived amidst the throng,’ 

I sometimes fancy that I can almost see them.” 

“ But what are we to do about this miserable crea- 
ture?” asked Miss Shaw. 

‘‘ Helen Harlow ? Drive her away, of course : that 
is just what I was telling Sister Sherwo(|^ here, when 
you came up.” 

“ But how ? ” 


54 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ If it can’t be done in one way, we must try another. 
If she were penitent, now, it would be quite a different 
thing ; but carrying on an intrigue with a married man, 
and breaking his wife’s heart, — it is too shameless to 
be borne ! ” 

“ Then she has a heart, after all. - Granger thought 
she was heartless ; but he was mistaken about Helen, 
and why not here ? ” was Reid’s inward comment. 

The trio — for Mrs. Sherwood could hardly be said 
to join them — went on with their plans ; one suggest- 
ing one thing, and another another, till Reid, becoming 
tired of his confinement, began to cast about for some 
means of escape. 

“ I have half a mind to frighten them,” thought he. 

It would be sport to see them run, and especially that 
courageous Mrs. Grant. I am quite certain that she 
would show her fait-k in angel guardianship by a speedy 
flight.” And, to try the effect, he gave a slight groan. 

“ T^i.hat’s that ? ” exclaimed Miss Shaw, starting to 
her feet. 

“ What’s what ? ” asked Mrs. Sherwood. 

“ Why, that noise.” 

“ I heard nothing. What did it sound like ? ” said 
Mrs. Grant, putting on a bold look, though evidently 
trembling. 

“ Like some one in distress. It seemed to come from 
the hill above us.” 

“ Oh, dear ! I’m so frightened ! I shall faint, I know I 
shall,” gasped Mrs. Fitzharnmer, sinking back like one 
almost gone.^ 

“ Don’t, don’t ! Oh ! what shall we do ? ” cried Mrs. 
Grant and Miss Shaw both at once. 


CUARITABLE CONCLUSIONS. 


55 


“ There is nothing to be frightened about,” said Mr§. 
Sherwood. “ Sallie is always imagining sometliing. I 
presume it was the wind in the branches above us.” 
Just then there came another iHoan, a little louder than 
the first. 

They all heard it ; and the fainting woman, springing 
to her feet, made good use of them by leaving the place 
as fast as possible. The other two followed hard after ; 
while Mrs. Sherwood moved more leisurely, smiling to 
herself, and saying, — 

“ What cowards ! Some animal — a cat or dog — 
asleep or in pain, perhaps. I have heard our Tray 
make worse noises than that when asleep.” 

Reid waited till they were fairly out of sight, and 
then took his way leisurely back to town. 

Retiring early, he pondered long and seriously upon 
the matter, and finally resolved to seek Helen, and 
make her acquaintance. 

Accordingly, the next day, he made an excuse to call 
at Mrs. Harlow’s house. Helen sat with her foot upon 
the cradle, rocking her sleeping boy from time to time, as 
he showed signs of restlessness, and holding in her hand 
a volume of ancient history, in which she seemed much 
interested, for she barely glanced at the stranger. 

He asked for a glass of water ; then made some re- 
marks about her place, and inquired if she would dispose 
of it. 

“ I would if my daughter would consent ; but she is 
not willing to leave here,” was the reply. 

Reid had made the inquiry for the purpose of entering 
into conversation more than any thing else. He now 
glanced toward Helen ; but she did not raise her 6yes 


56 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


from her book : and, as a desperate resort to gain her 
attention, he said, — 

“ I hope that I may be able to make your daughter 
think favorably of my proposition. I have always ad- 
mired the place since I was through here, nearly three 
years since, with my friend Granger.” 

Mrs. Harlow blushed ; and Helen looked him calmly 
in the face for a moment, and then said, — 

“ I should think your more especial admiration would 
be given to the seat by the lake.” 

“ Miss Harlow, I see that you recollect me ; and I am 
glad of it, for it will make what I have to say the easier. 
I shall never forget that hour ; neither can the influence 
of your truthful words be effaced from my soul. I have 
wedded since then the woman of my choice ; cher- 
ished her till the grave snatched her from my arms. 
But, from that time to this, I have respected you ; and 
to-day there is no woman on earth who holds so large a 
place in my heart.” 

Helen dropped her book, rose to her feet, and, clasp- 
ing her hands with a spasmodical movement, thrust them 
out in front, as if to ward him off. 

“What do you mean?” she exclaimed: “coming 
here to mock me with the semblance of respect ! No 
one respects me now,” she continued, glancing at her 
boy, — “no one but myself; and do not think to rob 
me of that.” ' 

The touching pathos of her appeal, words cannot ex- 
press ; and, for a moment, Reid had no power to reply. 
Indeed, he did not reply to her ; but, turning to her 
mother, said, — 

“ Madam, help me to convince your daughter that 


CHARITABLE CONCLUSIONS. 


57 


there is at least one man in the world who is honora- 
ble.’’ 

Mrs. Harlow glanced from one to the other with a 
bewildered air, and finally asked, “ What do you wish, 
sir ? ” 

“ I wish to be your friend and hers. I know how 
cruelly she has been wronged. I know the man who 
wronged her. I know how unjustly society is dealing 
with you both ; and I wish to help you stem the tide of 
injustice.” 

“ You can not help us, sir. We do not ask your help, 
nor any one’s. We only ask to be let alone,” said Mrs. 
Harlow. 

“ Your coming here will only injure us ; and our load 
was hard enough to bear before. I must request you to 
stay away in future,” added Helen, having so far recov- 
ered her self-control as to speak calmly. 

“ There is one way in which I can help you, if you 
are not too proud to accept it,” he said. 

She looked at him inquiringly. “ As my wife, they 
will not dare to insult you,” he continued. 

Again that involuntary movement of the hands, ac- 
companied with “ Don’t; don’t tempt me from my pur- 
pose.” 

“ I will leave you now,” he said, “ but will return in 
just one month for my answer ; ” and, taking a pencil 
and a slip of paper from his pocket, he wrote his name 
and address ; giving this to Mrs. Harlow, with “ Make 
all the inquiries you wish in reference to my character, 
position, &c. ; and, if you feel you can do so consistently, 
use your influence with your daugliter in my behalf. 
I wish you good-morning.” 


58 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


Walking rapidly away, — for the excitement under 
which he was laboring would not permit him to move 
slowly, — he had not gone a dozen rods before he saw 
the identical Mrs. Grant of the night before, together 
with Mrs. Fitzhammer, coming toward him. There was 
the least perceptible start upon seeing him, and then they 
moved quietly forward ; but, as he passed them, the ex- 
pression upon their faces spoke volumes. 

“ More food for scandal ; more food for Christian 
charity. Good heavens, what a world w^e live in ! ” 
was his mental ejaculation, as he hastened forward. 

“ Just as I expected ! ” said Mrs. Grant. “ You see, 
my dear Mrs. Fitzhammer, that people at a distance are 
beginning to find her out, and are more bold in visiting 
her than those here would dare to be.” 

“ For my part, I am ashamed to be seen so near the 
house,” lisped the lawyer’s wife. “ He might think we 
were some of the same stamp, you know.” 

“ No danger ; no danger of that in the least, Mrs. 
Fitzhammer. A respectable woman is never mistaken 
for one of her class.” 

“I suppose you are right, Mrs. Grant; and yet I 
sometimes wonder how it is that they detect the differ- 
ence so readily.” 

“ You dear, unsophisticated child, it is your perfect 
innocence that makes you feel so ; but when you have 
lived as long in the world, and have had as much trouble, 
as I have, — which God grant you never may ! — you 
will not then be so unsuspecting.” 


FIRST FRUITS. 


59 


CHAPTER IV. 

• • FIRST FRUITS. 

“ Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” — Bible. 

“ Society, like to a Romish Pope, may claim to be infallible; may sell unto 
its favored ones indulgences ; may give them leave to sow ‘ wild oats : > but jus- 
tice still brings home to such as sow, the ‘ wild-oat’ harvest.” — L. W. 

O with me, kind reader, to the village of 
Albright. The time is just one week 
after the occurrence of the incidents re- 
lated in the last chapter ; the place, one 
of the best residences in the village ; and 
le house one of the “ upper tens,” in her 
own estimation at least. She belongs to that class to 
whom Saxe refers in the following pointed and most 
truthful lines : — 

“ Where’er six chimney-stacks go up 
Contiguous to a steeple 
Are those who can’t associate 
With common country-people.” 

The lamps are lighted. The parlor window is up, 
and the sound of voices comes floating out upon the 
evening air. The blind is partly open, and through it 
we catch a glimpse of a lady’s face. The features are 
familiar : let us look closer. Ah, yes ! the very same : 
Mrs. Fitzhammer, the lawyer’s wife. But what has 
brought her here?” Thus mused William Reid, as he 



60 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


neared tlie house of his friend, Edward Granger, Esq. 
Classmates, and almost inseparable during their college 
days, still they had not met since the marriage of 
Granger ; but, after his interview with Helen, Reid re- 
solved to visit Albright. So, after finishing up the busi- 
ness which brought him to Lakeside, he made his way 
thither, and arrives there just at the hour in which we 
have introduced our reader to the place. 

“ I wonder what that lawyer’s wife is doing here. 
Some mischief, I’ll warrant,” was his mental comment. 

In th*e mean while, the conversation in the parlor 
becomes more animated. 

“ Yes, Cousin Ella, I like Lakeside very much : it is 
such a romantic place. I tell Mr. Fitzhammer that he 
could not have chosen a livelier home. By the way, I 
understand that Mr. Gran^rer used to visit there : in- 
deed, that he spent much of his time there for a year or 
so before his marriage.” 

“ He did, Addie ; but he has never since. I have 
tried to get him to take me to the place ; but he always 
has some excuse.” 

“ I would go, anyhow, if I was in your place. Cousin 
Ella.” 

‘‘ Of course I shall, now that you are there.’’ 

“ But there are other reasons for going, besides my * 
being there.” 

“ What do you mean, Addie ? ” 

“ I think, that, if you were to go there, you would 
find the solution of Mr. Granger’s moods.” 

“ Mr. Grano-er’s moods ? ” 

o 

“Yes: of those gloomy spells that make you 
happy, poor child.” 


so un- 


FIRST FRUITS. 


61 


“ Why, what have you learned, Addie ? ” Mrs. Gran- 
ger’s expression had undergone an entire change ; and 
one needed but to look at her to know that pride and 
cruelty lay concealed under the usual velvety softness 
of her manner, — concealed, but waiting the moment in 
which their fangs could be buried in the heart of the 
hapless victim. 

“ If you look like that, I don’t think I had better tell 
you,” whined Mrs. Fitzhammer. 

“ Don’t be a fool. Add ! ” thundered Mrs. Granger : 
“ but tell me what you mean.” 

Well, since you will have it, I think the girl that 
your husband talks of in his sleep is a Helen Harlow of 
that place.” 

“ What reason have you for thinking so ? ” 

“ She has a boy who was born a few months after Mr. 
Granger’s last visit there, and no one knows who its 
father is.” 

“ Do the people there think it is Mr. Granger’s ? ” 

“ I could not learn as they did, Cousin Ella.” 

“ Oh ! quit your cousining, and talk straight ahead. 
You have so much romance about you, one would think 
that you were made of novels. Was he known to wait 
upon her, or be in her company much ? ” 

“ I could not learn, as he was ; but you are so cross, 
you don’t deserve to be told any thing about it.” 

“ It’s just what brought you here, though. But I 
should like to know what reason you have for thinking 
the child to be Mr. Granger’s.” 

“ It looks like him.” 

“ Do others think so beside yourself ? ” 

‘‘ When I spoke of it, they did.” 


62 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


‘‘ Oh ! fool, fool, that you are ! And this is your love 
for me, is it ? ’’ 

“IF I had not loved you. Cousin Ella, I shouldn’t 
have come out here on purpose to tell you this,” said 
Mrs. Fitzhammer, beginning to sob. 

“ It’s all right, your telling me, Addie ; but you nyght 
have been careful enough of the family reputation to 
have kept it from others.” 

Mrs. Fitzhammer opened her eyes very wide. “ Why, 
Cousin Ella ! I did not suppose that you loved Mr. 
Granger well enough to be so careful of his reputation.” 

“ Neither do I, you little fool. If there was no one 
but him concerned, I shouldn’t care a farthing ; but he 
is my husband, and whatever affects him affects me. I 
know little, and care less, about love ; but I have some 
pride.” 

“ It is your pride, then, that is wounded, when you 
hear him talk of another in his sleep ? O Ella ! I did 
not think that you were quite so heartless ! ” 

“ And who cares what you think, so that you keep 
your opinion to yourself? I tell you, Add, I am not 
troubled with any of your romantic nonsense ; and I 
supposed that you knew it long ago.” 

“ Why did you marry Mr. Granger, if you did not 
love him, Ella ? ” 

“ Well, really, you have said Ella twice without pre- 
fixing the ‘Cousin.’ What did I marry him for? 
Because he was the best match in all the country, — dis- 
tinguished-looking, a fine fortune, and an unblemished 
character. He could have married any one he chose ; 
and do you count it nothing that I can look the world 
in the face and say he chose me? ” 


FIRST FRUITS. 


63 


“ Even if it is whispered that his father chose you, 
and he acquiesced rather than lose his fortune ? ” 

“ Envy would be certain to say that. But let them 
say it where I can hear it, if they dare.” 

Mrs. Fitzhammer sat for a while in silence. Two 
characters could hardly be more different than she and 
Mrs^Granger, — the one cold, calculating in the extreme, 
despising the sentimental in any form ; and the other all 
sentiment, but of the sickly kind that would vent itself 
in tears over fancied wrongs, — would seek for respect- 
able broken hearts, only that it might feast its- morbid 
appetite with expressions of sympathy ; but for broken 
hearts that had been pushed from the respectable high- 
way., there was not even a sigh of regret. 

Mrs. Granger, in a fit of spite, had spoken of her 
husband’s gloomy moods, and his talking in his sleep : 
in a fit of spite, she had spoken of these things to her 
Cousin Adeline, or Addie as she was most frequently 
called. But she had an object to accomplish ; and it was 
for the purpose of securing Addie’s co-operation that 
she had done so, and not, as Addie had supposed, 
the expression of a breaking heart. Granger was 
right when he said of his intended, “ Heart she has 
none.” 

“When do you return to Lakeside ? ” asked Mrs. 
Granger at length. 

“ Why, are you tired of me ? ” said Mrs. Fitzham- 
mer, starting from her reverie. 

“ Can’t you use a grain of common sense for once, 
you little goose ? Tired of you, indeed ! not so long as 
you do nothing to disgrace yourself or me. I wish to 
know, however, when you return ; for I must go with 


64 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


you, and undo tlie mischief that your silly tongue has 
done.” 

“ Mischief! ” 

“ Yes, mischief. I do not intend that my husband’s 
name shall be used in connection with any woman’s but 
my own. I have no ambition in the direction of being 
looked upon as an abused wife. Bah I Do you suppose 
that I want all the trash in the country, every washer- 
woman and every kitchen-wench, looking after me with 
glances of pity as I pass along the street, and saying to 
themselves or to each other, ‘ Poor Mrs. Granger I ’ ? 
Not I, indeed ! ” 

“ But what will you do ? ” 

“What will I do? I can tell better when I get 
there ; but you may rest assured that I shall do away 
with the impression that my husband is the father of 
that girl’s child.” 

“ Hush 1 ” said Mrs. Fitzhammer. “ Mr. Granger is 
coming, and a gentleman with him.” 

The next moment the door was thrown open, and 
the two gentlemen appeared upon the threshold ; Mr. 
Granger introducing his friend and classmate, Mr. Reid, 
son of the Hon. R. S. Reid of Oakville, N.H. Com- 
pliments were interchanged, the beauties of the even- 
ing noted and commented upon ; and then, but for Mrs. 
Granger, conversation would have lagged, for there 
was evidently a feeling of restraint upon the others. 

Granger looked flushed and uneasy ; for he had 
caught his wife’s words, “ That my husband is the 
father of that girl’s child,” and knew but too well that 
his secret was out, and he at the mercy of her two- 
edged tongue. Reid knew that the presence of the 


FIRST FRUITS. 


65 


lawyer’s wife boded no good ; while she, recognizing 
him as the gentleman she had seen coming out of Mrs. 
Harlow’s, was aching for the opportunity of pouring 
this item of interest into her cousin’s ear. Mrs. Gran- 
ger was the only one who seemed really at ease : but 
this only made her husband the more uneasy ; for he 
understood but too well, that, though a cat’s claws may 
be sheathed in velvet, it does not take long to un- 
sheathe them. 

“ You reside in Lakeside, Mrs. Fitzhammer, I be- 
lieve ? ” said Reid to that lady. 

“ My husband and myself have recently taken up 
Dur residence there,” was the reply. 

Mrs. Granger’s face showed a smiling contempt for 
her cousin’s affectation ; while Reid continued, “ I 
thought I recognized your face.” 

“ I think you are the gentleman I saw coming out 
of Mrs. Harlow’s one day,” she answered ; forgetting, in 
her anxiety to give Mrs. Granger this piece of news, that 
she was too modest to speak of such characters in the 
presence of gentlemen. But she did not forget it long, 
and the next moment her face was suffused with blushes. 

“ Yes,” replied Reid : “ I thought you were one of 
the ladies that I met just after leaving there.” This 
calm reply only increased her confusion ; and, making 
some trifling excuse, she hastily left the room. 

Granger felt as if he was sitting upon thorns, but 
tried to hide it, and hoped that he was succeeding; 
but the keen eye of his wife had noted all. “ Friends 
of yours, Mr. Reid ? ” she asked, with the most inno- 
cent look imaginable. 

Slight acquaintances only,” was the response. 

5 


66 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ All, indeed ! I did not know but they miglit be rel- 
atives ; and, if so, I thought I should like to call on 
them, as I am ^oing to Lakeside next week.’’ 

The word consternation would give but a faint idea 
of the expression upon Granger’s face as his wife made 
this announcement. “ You see, my dear,” she said, 
turninor toward him with a smile, “ Mrs. Fitzhammer 
has no relatives but our family in this part of the coun- 
try : and she is so anxious that I should go home with 
her, that I have promised to do so, as I knew you would 
not object ; you never do when you see that I really de- 
sire a thing.” 

Granger writhed inwardly, but responded with an 
attempted smile. “ Have you one of your old head- 
aches, Mr. Granger ? ” she asked a moment after : 
“ you are not looking well.” 

“I am not feeling quite well,” he replied, glad of any 
excuse that would avail for the moment ; for, though 
unsolaced by love, he, too, had pride, and he shrank from 
having Reid know how utterly wretched he was. And 
as to not being well, he had spoken the truth ; for the 
presence of Reid, in connection with Mrs. Harlow’s 
name, — these had brought up so vividly the scenes of 
the past, that, when he compared what might have been 
with what was, he was actually sick and faint. 

Conscience, too, was busy at work, showing him 
Helen as he first beheld her ; telling of the motives 
which prompted him to seek her society ; how he 
had avoided being seen with her in public, cheating 
her innocent heart by saying that their love was too 
sacred to be shared by any one but themselves till the 
time came that he could make lier his wife. 


FIRST FRUITS. 


G7 

He remembered, too, how her artless loveliness had 
won upon him, till he was resolved to possess her at all 
events, honorably if he could not accomplish it dishon- 
orably ; and then that final interview, where she had 
borne herself so bravely upon learning the deception 
that had been practiced upon her, — of the years in 
whictT she had rested under the scorn of an unpitying 
world, with none to shield the 'brave-young head from 
the storm, and still no word of complaint, not even the 
name of her betrayer, passing her lips. 

All this, and much more, came up so vividly before 
him, that, ere he was aware, he groaned aloud. Reid, 
as well as Mrs. Granger, was well aware that the plea of 
sickness was only an excuse : but, acting upon it, they 
had left him to himself, while they entertained each 
other ; for Mrs. Fitzhammer’s modesty had not suffi- 
ciently recovered from the shock it had received to per- 
mit her to return. 

But now Mrs. Granger sprang to her feet, with, 
“ My dear husband, you are really suffering.” 

“ A sharp pain in my head. It took me unawares, it 
was so sudden ; but it is gone now,” said Granger with a 
pallid smile. He should have said heart instead of head, 
and then he would have told the truth. 

“ But sha’n’t I get you something to take ? ” contin- 
ued Mrs. Granger, with such a look of sympathy upon 
her face, that none but the closest observer could have 
suspected that she was other than the loving, devoted 
wife she appeared. 

“ No : 1 don’t need any thing, unless it is a turn in the 
air. Reid, would you not like to take a walk ? ” 

“ Certainly, if Mrs. Granger will excuse us,” 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


68 
\ 0 . 

“ I shall not give my consent to his going, unless you 
go along to take care of him, Mr. Reid ; for I fear he is 
much worse than he is willing to own,” was that lady’s 
smiling reply. 

Reid bowed. “ I shall take good care of him, for your 
sake, madam ; ” and the next moment they were in the 
street. 

“ And so you have seen Helen ? ” said Granger, as 
soon as they were beyond hearing distance from the 
house. 

“ I have,” was the reply. 

‘‘ How does she seem ? ” 

“ As brave as ever.” 

“ And her child ? ” 

“ A splendid boy, that any mother might be proud of. 
Has Mrs. Granger borne you no children ? ” 

“ We have one, — a boy of nearly two years of age. You 
shall see him in the morning.” And, after a silence of a 
few seconds, he added, “ You can marry Helen now, 
Will, if you wish.” 

‘‘ Do you wish I would, Ed ? ” 

“ Yes, I do ; for she is worthy of you, and I should 
feel better than I now do if that load of disgrace was 
lifted from her shoulders.” 

“ Well, I intend to marry her if she will have me.” 

“ If she will have you ? ” 

“Yes; but I have my doubts about it.” Granger 
stared incredulously. “ I see,” said Reid : “ you have 
not been cured of the idea, that, if a woman is wronged 
by one man, she will be only too glad to marry another, 
simply for the protection of his name.” 

“ I should suppose that that would naturally have some 


FIRST FRUITS. 


GO 


influence. And it is not every poor girl, disgraced or n^, 
that could marry a man like yourself, Will ; and, if she 
refuses you, I shall feel that she don’t deserve much 

pity-” 

“Not pity, but respect, Ed, — respect for being true 
to herself. If I thought her capable of being influenced 
by the motives you mention, I should not want her for 
a wife.” 

“ So you think that a girl in Helen’s position has a 
right to look just as high as though nothing of the kind 
had ever occurred ? ” 

“ I think she had better live single than to marry one 
she cannot love, no matter what his position in life. I 
should suppose that your own experience would teach 
you that.” 

“ What do you mean, Will ? ” said Granger, col- 
oring. 

“ I mean that you have cheapened yourself in marrying 
as you did ; that the woman you have is no companlmi 
for you, nor worthy to be compared with Helen Har- 
low.” 

“ Take care, there. Will : remember that it is my wife 
of whom you are talking.” 

“ Legally true, morally false. There is not a particle 
of love between you, and you know it. Her expressions 
of sympathy are hypocritical, — only put on to deceive 
the world. No : she does not love you ; but she exults 
in the fact that you are hers, is proud of it. She is per- 
fectly aware, however, that you have no more love for 
her than she has for you ; and, when you are by your- 
selves, she delights in torturing you. Helen is far hap- 
pier now than you are, Ed.” 


70 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


During this speech, there was a conflict of varied 
emotions going on in the breast of Granger. His pride 
revolted against tlie thought of his friend’s knowing how 
wretched he really was : he was angry, also, at his plain- 
ness of speech, and, at the same time, fully aware that it 
would be useless to make even an attempt at denial. He 
spoke quietly, but with a dry, hard intonation of voice. 

“ I think you must have spent your time since I saw 
you in studying the philosophy of charity, you make 
such sweeping assertions. Had not you and Helen better 
establish a school for the express purpose of teaching 
your Utopian morality?” 

“ There is no use in being offended, Ed, because I 
have told you the truth. God knows, I wish it were 
otherwise ; for I love you well enough to desire for you 
any amount of happiness. I have studied this subject a 
great deal in the last three years ; and I have talked 
about it too. There is a lady living near my father’s, who 
was left in her girlhood in the same condition that Helen 
is. The thouo-ht of the disgrace was more than she could 
endure ; and, to avoid it, she married another man, — 
one who had long wanted her, but who was every way 
beneath her. She married him before her child was 
born ; and, moving into a new place, she supposed that 
she had mended a bad matter nicely. 

“ She says now, that that marriage was the worst, the 
most criminal act that she ever did. ‘ I am now,’ she 
says, ‘ the mother of one child by a man I loved, and of 
three by a man I do not love. The world accepts me 
now because I am a wife : it rejected me then because 
I was a mother and not a wife, the while I was purity 
itself compared to what I am now.’ 


FIRST FRUITS. 


71 


“ ‘ But suppose,’ I asked, ‘ that society should take 
you at your own estimate, — should accept those who 
have suffered themselves to be placed in the situation in 
which you were : would it not tend to increase the evil ? ’ 

“ ‘ If society would punish our betrayers as heavily as 
it does us, it would tend to decrease it,’ was her indignant 
answer.” 

“ Your conversation would indicate that you possessed 
her confidence, to say the least,” said Granger, in the 
same dry, hard tone. 

“ Perhaps you will not think that so strange when I 
tell you that she was a seamstress in my father’s house, 
and my eldest brother the father of her child.” 

“ She ought to have known better than to have listened 
to one so far above her socially,” was the reply. 

“ And he ought to have been too honorable to trifle 
with any one, to say nothing of the persistency with 
which he pursued that poor girl. She could not well 
afford to lose her place, and so she did not complain of 
him, thinking that she could protect herself. She fastened 
the door of her sleeping-apartment, and he crept in at 
the wdndow.” * 

“ And what became of that immaculate brother of 
yours ? ” 

Reid, at this question, burst into a hearty laugh. 
“ Oh ! he has repented, and is now the ‘ Rev. Mr. 
Reid ’ of W , Vermont.” 

“ Well, this is all very interesting to me, of course. 
When one has done a foolish thing, it is so very pleasant 
to be told of it, to be sure ! ” 

“ Forgive me, Fd, if I have been too hard on you. 


♦ A fact. 


72 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


I am aware that we are wronged as well as wronging 
when we fall into such sin. In fact, society, by the 
manner in which it looks over, ignores such conduct 
in man, practically educates him to it.” 

“ That’s a truth, God knows,” said Granger bitterly. 

“ And things will never be any better, Ed, till every 
wronged woman asserts herself, takes just the position 
that Helen Harlow has done.'*'' 

“ Perhaps not. But what do you suppose my — Mrs. 
Granger means by going to Lakeside ? ” 

“ I think that Mrs. Fitzhammer has been putting mis- 
chief into her head.” 

“ Mrs. Fitznoodle ! for noodle she certainly is ; and I 
should think it would give any one fits to live with her.” 

“ I don’t think she is overstocked with sense, Ed.” 

Sense ! no. I can’t see how a man of sense could 
have married her. Still, I have no right to say any thing, 
after having shown such superlative good sense in my 
own matrimonial affairs.” 

“ Too late to regret it now,” said Reid. 

“ Yes ; and that is what makes it so much the more 
bitter. But why do you think that noodle has been plot- 
ing mischief? ” 

Reid now told of his adventure the first night he spent 
at Lakeside, — the conversation about Helen, and the 
turn it had taken when Miss Shaw and Mrs. Fitzhammer 
joined the others. 

Granger looked surprised. “ It is an old saying, that 
‘ murder will out ; ’ but I did not suppose that I was let- 
ting it out in my sleep,” he said at length. 

“ And I sometimes think that Nature sickens at crime, 
and vomits it up,” added Reid. 


FIE ST FEUITS. 


73 


Granger laughed at the oddness of Reid’s remark. 
“ You will never be accused of stealing another’s 
thought there, Will ; for, if that is not an original idea, 
I don’t know where you will look for one. But suppose 
we return to the house. The ladies will tliink that we 
are not very much in love with their society.” 

‘‘ And they might make a worse mistake,” laughed 
Reid, as they turned their steps in that direction. 

Mrs. Fitzhammer had so far recovered from the shock 
she had received as to return to the parlor ; but for a 
time she manifested a school-girl’s timidity, gradually 
coming out of it into her usual state of sentimental self- 
possession. Music was called for ; after which the con- 
versation turned upon the various nothings so much in 
vogue, and, of course, became general, and continued till 
the hour of retiring. 

Granger seemed inclined to put it off as long as possi- 
ble ; but, like the day of doom, it would come. 

It is useless for me to attempt even to portray the kind 
of conjugal endearments which awaited him ; but I am 
very certain that the contrast with what it would have 
been had Helen been his wife was very palpable to the 
understanding of him who was reaping as he had sown, — 
reaping the first fruits of a harvest to which he could see 
no end this side the grave, if then. 



74 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


CHAPTER V. 

ALONE. 


“ I looked, and there was none to help ; and I wondered that there was none to 
uphold : therefore mine own arm brought salvation unto me.” — BiBiiE. 

“ No room, no room, 

For two to meet the genius of their fate : 

Nor down the pathway to the narrow tomb, 

Nor on the golden heights of victory. 

Alone, alone I bear my cross ; 

Alone the weight of glory coming after.” — Burleigh. 



T the time appointed, Reid returned to 
Lakeside, for the purpose of learning 
'Helen’s decision. Upon reaching the 
place, he was surprised to find the house 
closed, and no signs of life about. After 
rapping again, and yet again, and eliciting no response, 
he tried the door ; and, finding that it was not fastened, 
he opened it- and looked in. 

The sight that met his eyes was not only unexpected, 
but startling. Helen was kneeling beside her mother’s 
corpse, her face buried in her hands, and seemingly un- 
conscious of all around her. 

“ Helen ! Miss Harlow ! What does this mean ? ” 
She looked at him a moment, as if hardly compre- 
hending where she was ; and then, rising to her feet, she 
silently pointed to the motionless form before her. 


ALONE. 


75 


“ But why are you here alone?” he asked. 

“ And wliy should I not be alone ? ” was the bitter 
response. “ Why should I not be despised and re- 
jected by a Christian community ? I, when but a child 
in years, to say nothing of experience, — I was fool 
enough to love and trust ; and, for this crime, why 
should I not be an outcast ? ” 

Reid lifted his hand deprecatingly, as he glanced in- 
voluntarily toward the dead. 

“ Yes, but I will speak ! ” Helen burst forth with still 
greater vehemence. “ I have been silent for years; I 
have smothered the bitter feelings that the thought of 
my wrongs was sure to bring, — have kept ‘them in 
when they raged like a pent-up volcano: and all for 
her dear sake. But she is beyond the reach of such 
things now ; she is at rest: and I — I” — The pressure 
upon her overtaxed brain was too great: she reeled, and, 
but for Reid’s quickly clasping arms, would have fallen 
prostrate. 

She had not entirely lost consciousness, or, if so, only 
for a moment ; and there w’as a faint struggle to free 
herself as he bore her to the lounge. 

“Be quiet, dear one,” he whispered; for the place 
seemed to him too sacredly solemn for the loud-spoken 
word. “ Be quiet ; for, so long as my arm is strong 
enough to protect, you shall suffer thus ho more.” 

And was it a sin, weak and grief-stricken as she was, 
that her head rested upon his shoulder for a little, 
with a sense of perfect peace? Was it strange that 
her life-purpose passed from her sight for one brief 
instant? She had otherwise been more than mortal. 
But it was only for a moment ; and then the “ No, no! ” 


76 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


that burst from her lips as she struggled to a sitting pos- 
ture was interrupted with, — 

“ Quite a scene, I should think ; but it would have 
been more in keeping with decency if you had kept the 
door closed.” And, turning quickly, they confronted 
Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Granger. 

There is nothing done here that needs to have the 
door closed upon it,” said Reid sternly. “ When I find 
a woman alone with her mother’s corpse, and the, to 
her, very strange tones of sympathy bring so vividly to 
her mind the bitter wrongs she has endured that she 

o 

faints away, I think I have a right to take care of her 
till she regains her consciousness.” He said this very 
deliberately, but in a tone that was not soon forgotten 
by his hearers. 

Mrs. Grant was startled at the word “ corpse;” for, as 
we have already seen, she was a coward. She opened 
her lips as if to question ; when her eye caught siglit of 
the pale, still form, and she remained silent. Not so 
Mrs. Granger ; for the fact that Mrs. Harlow was dead 
gave her only satisfaction : she could now the more 
easily crush the heroic girl before her ; and so, with a 
sneer upon her lips, she replied, — 

“ Of course, such as she can always receive sym- 
pathy from gentlemen^ even while an honest wife is for- 
gotten. But where is Miss Harlow’s boy ? She can 
not be alone, with him to smile upon her.” 

Reid pointed to the door. “ Go, madam, before I 
forget that you are a woman ! Dare not longer to insult 
with your presence one wdio is as much purer than 
yourself as the heavens are higher than the earth.” 

Mrs. Grant lifted her hands in astonishment ; while 


ALONE. 


77 


Mrs. Granger’s evil eyes threatened vengeance. 
“Come,” said she to her companion: “we have de- 
meaned ourselves too much already.” 

“ But who is to take care of the corpse ? ” asked Mrs. 
Grant. 

“ Not her murderers, I can assure you,” said Helen, 
speaking for the first time since their entrance. 

Reid looked at her inquiringly. 

“Just as truly as though they had stabbed her to the 
heart with a knife ; but I can not tell you about it 
now.” 

“ Of course not. We will first see these dear remains 
in their last resting-place. You are not afraid to stay 
here while I go to the village, and send some one to do 
what is needed to be done ? ” 

“ Certainly not : it is the living that I shrink from. 
I must have some one, of course ; but still, no other 
hand shall do what I can do myself. I know,” she 
continued, “ that people will misunderstand me, will 
call me heartless, unfeeling, &c. ; but it matters not, 
it matters not ; ” and her voice was full of unshed 
tears. 

“ But we must make arrangements for the funeral.” 

“Yes, I know, — I know we must,” and, as the 
thought of losing sight of that dear form for ever 
rushed over her, she again threw herself upon her 
knees beside the couch, and burst into a passion of 
weeping. 

Reid waited till she was somewhat quiet, and then 
continued, “ Where shall we have the funeral, -i»- here, 
or at church?” 

“ Here : I can not go to the church to be gaped at 


78 


HELEN HARLOWS VOW. 


by those who will look upon my grief as a dispensa- 
tion of Providence to punish me for my wickedness.” 

“ They certainly can not look upon it in that light, 
as death is the common lot of all.” 

“ Yes : but when a Christian is afflicted, it is because 
God loves him ; and when a sinner suffers in the same 
way, it is looked upon as evidence of God’s anger, as 
he is said to be angry with the wicked every day.” 

“ I should think, then, that he would be angry enough 
with some who call themselves Christians, if deeds in- 
stead of professions are the criterion. But what minister 
will you have ? ” 

“ None ; or, at least, no one at Lakeside : for if, 
while professing to be the servants^ of Him who said, 
‘ Neither do I condemn thee,’ they could not call upon 
me during all these years of sorrow, they shall not come 
now.” 

“ I have a friend at Glencove, that, with your per- 
mission, I will send for, — an old classmate of mine, 
and a Christian in deed as well as in name.” 

“ Any one you please, so that they do not come from 
Lakeside.” 

After a few more questions in regard to the minutiae 
of the arrangements necessary, Reid repaired to the 
village ; and dispatching black Susan, together-with an 
honest German and his wife, to the aid of Helen, he 
then took a team from the livery-stable, and went, 
instead of sending to Glencove, some eifflit miles dis- 
tant, for his friend, the Rev. Mr. Gordon. 

Helen, after he had gone, went quietly at work pre- 
paring the body for itsdast robing: and only once dur- 
ing the time did she falter ; and that was when little 


ALONE. 


79 


Charlie, awaking from the usual daily sleep of healthy 
childhood, cried because “ gran’ma wouldn’t speak to 
him, nor kiss him.” 

It was not long after it was known at the village 
that Mrs. Harlow was dead, before the house was full 
of those who came to offer their services : for, notwith- 
standing the course they had taken since the birth of 
Helen’s boy, Mrs. Harlow really had many friends ; 
and they would gladly have patronized Helen as a 
repentant dinner for they did not mean to be cruel, — 
oh, no ! they had no such intention as that. But when 
she refused both to kneel to them, or to God in their 
presence, they verily thought they were doing God ser- 
vice in persecuting her. 

And so they came and filled the house. Helen 
received them all quietly, but Miss Shaw, Mrs. Fitz- 
hammer, Mrs. Granger, and Mrs. Grant ; for, notwith- 
standing the rebuff they had received, these last came 
with the others. These four were told to leave, and in 
such a manner that they did not think it best to dis- 
obey. The others looked surprised ; and Helen, noting 
it, remarked, “ If you knew all, you would not blame 
me.” 

About nine o’clock in the evening, Reid returned, 
bringing with him the Rev. Mr. Gordon and his most 
excellent wife. Mr. Gordon was a classmate of Ed- 
ward Granger’s, as well as of Mr. Reid’s ; and to him 
and his worthy wife had the latter confided what he 
knew of Helen’s history. 

Coming thus prepared to sympathize with the be- 
reaved girl, their presence, like to oil upon troubled 
waters, calmed her perturbed spirit by allaying much 


80 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


of the bitterness which she was nourishing to tlie de- 
struction of her own peace ; for she had not as yet 
learned that the only weapon which can take the keen 
edge from a bitter wrong is, “ Father, forgive them, 
for they know not what they do.^'* 

The funeral passed off quietly ; but the lesson of the 
hour was not soon forgotten. The w^ords of the text 
were, “ Man looketh at the outward appearance, but 
God looketh at the heart.’’ 

In speaking from these words, he made them the 
occasion both of reproof and excuse, — reproof, not 
directly, of course, but in such a manner that each 
could not fail to apply it where it belonged ; reproof 
to the people for judging, without the charity which 
puts the best instead of the worst interpretation upon 
an act ; and to Helen for the pride, which, under a 
sense of wrong, had caused her to shut herself up with- 
out explanation of any kind, leaving them to think what 
they pleased, simply because, judging from outward 
appearances, they had pleased to think wrong. 

Then, taking the opposite side, he apologized for the 
people, from the fact, that, not being able to see the in- 
tention, they naturally judged from appearances ; and 
for Helen, by saying that a proud, sensitive nature, 
conscious of being wronged, and of being judged un- 
justly, was very apt to shut itself in, and bear all in 
silence. 

Helen listened, and profited by the lesson. She saw 
that wisdom, as well as determination, was needed in 
the accomplishment of any object, no matter how wor- 
thy ; that martyrs for the right often fail just here. 
The audience, the while, found their prejudices giving 


ALONE. 


81 


way, and sympathy for the poor girl, now so utterly 
alone, taking the place of condemnation. 

Helen felt this, and, but for one thought, could have 
been comforted thereby ; and that thought was, “ This 
comes from the fact that two respectable men publicly 
treat me with respect.” Her feeling was, that woman 
should be respected for her own sake, and not because 
of man’s protection. 

She expressed something of this in conversation with 
Mr. Gordon afterward. “It is Nature,” said he; “ and 
you can’t set aside her laws.” 

“Nature?” queried Helen. 

“ Yes. God has ordained that man should receive 
recognition through woman, as well as woman through 
man. Would you be seen in public with a man that 
every other woman repudiated ? ” 

“ I would, if satisfied that he was unjustly repudi- 
ated,” was the reply. 

“ You might, I acknowledge, Miss Harlow. With your 
strong sense of justice, you could not very well help ex- 
pressing your sympathy in some shape : but the masses 
can not do this, only as masses ; otherwise there would 
be no occasion for the heroic bravery of individuals in 
this direction.” 

“But what of the teachers, Mr. Gordon ? ” 

“ They are borne upon the shoulders of these masses, 
— nine out of every ten. It is but few of our teachers 
who are leaders. And these can only direct the on- 
ward tide : they can neither check nor turn it back, even 
though thousands are crushed by its resistless flow.” 

“ How, then, can prostrate ones escape ? ” she asked. 

“ Only by getting up and moving on, or getting out 


82 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


of the way, — the self-assertion that determines to con- 
quer or die.” 

“ Just the position I have taken, Mr. Gordon ; and 
yet you blame me for being dissatisfied because ” — 

“Because that recognition comes through the legitimate 
channel, and you can not see it so. No, my child : I am 
not blaming you, but simply pointing ouf your mistake. 
You would have that recognition to come from the 
masses direct : I wish you to understand that this can 
not be.” 

“ Do not press her too hard, my husband,” said Mrs. 
Gordon, smiling. “ Give her time to weigh these ques- 
tions in the balance of matured thought, and she will 
have no trouble in reaching correct conclusions.” 

“ Which will, of course, be your conclusions,” said 
Helen, with a spark of her natural vivacity. 

This was upon the morning after the funeral, as Mr. 
and Mrs. Gordon had remained with Helen both nights, 
much to the surprise as well as the chagrin of the min- 
istry of Lakeside. But they were not of those who are 
“borne upon the shoulders of the masses : ” they thought 
for themselves, and acted accordingly. 

Before they were ready to leave, Reid came up from 
the village, and, calling Mr. Gordon aside, held a few 
moments’ private conversation ; and» Helen, as they sep- 
arated, heard Mr. Gordon say, “ I shall remain in Lake- 
side till to-morrow, and shall be most happy to serve you 
if occasion requires.” 

As they drove away, Reid stood and watched them 
till they were out of sight, and then entered the house. 
Black Susan was busy in the kitchen, while Helen sat 
holding her boy upon her knee. In her eye there 


ALONE. 


83 


was a look of suppressed feeling, and around the firmly- 
closed mouth the indications of a fixedness of purpose that 
augured ill for his hopes. She was aware of his inten- 
tion, but felt that she could not give her decision then ; 
so, without giving him a chance to speak, she said, — 

“ I will tell you now, Mr. Reid, what I meant by 
calling those two women my mother’s murderers. They 
were not alone, however ; for there were two others, — 
Miss Shaw and Mrs. Fitzhammer.” 

Reid uttered an involuntary “ Ah ! ” while Helen 
proceeded. “About two weeks after you were here, I 
was surprised at receiving a call from Mrs. Fitzhammer 
and another woman, who was introduced as Mrs. Gran- 
ger from Albright, — particularly emphasizing the last 
words. 

“The eyes of the stranger were fixed upon me the 
while, with a look of covert insolence that made my 
blood boil. I noticed that mother started, and placed 
her hand upon her side, as she heard the name. 

“ ‘ What is the matter, mother ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Only a sudden pain in my side ; but it is gone now,’ 
she answered : but I noticed an unusual pallor around 
the mouth and eyes, while her cheeks were flushed. 

“ In the mean time, Mrs. Fitzhammer had been trying 
to coax Charlie to her. He refused to go, and seemed 
afraid ; so much so, that I took him upon my lap to quiet 
him. The woman from Albright had been devouring 
him with her eyes ; and she now broke out with, ‘ What 
nonsense. Add, for you to think that that child looks 
like my husband ! ’ Here mother rose to her feet ; and, 
but for a look from me, I believe she would have turned 
them out of the house. 


84 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ But I was desirous of hearing what they would say, 
and so I motioned her to be silent. 

“ ‘ I knew,’ continued the woman, ‘ that it could not 
be : he is too honorable a man for that. He wouldn’t 
do such a thing as to deceive and betray one girl, when 
he was engaged to another.’ ” 

“ Indeed! ” was Reid’s sarcastic response ; his feelings 
being too intensely stirred to permit entire silence. 

“ ‘ I am sorry, Cousin Ella, to have wronged him, even 
in thought ; and hope you will forgive me. I should not 
have thought of it, had not my attention been turned 
in that direction,’ said Mrs. Fitzhammer. 

“ ‘ Certainly, certainly, Addie : we are all liable to 
mistakes. But I will tell you who he is the very image 
of ; and, if this girl will own the truth, she will say that 
I am riorht. You recollect that writincr-master who 

O O 

came to Albright between three and four years ago, — 
about four, I think ? He was smart, handsome, and just 
the one to flatter one who knew nothing of the ways of 
the world. 

“ ‘ He made love to several of the ladies of Albright, 
but did not succeed in deceiving them. He came, I am 
told, to Lakeside, and from here to Denton. At this 
last place, he courted one of the first young ladies in 
town ; and every thing was ready for the wedding, when 
the* officers came and took him away, saying that he had 
broken jail somewhere down in New Hampshire, and he 
was really a desperate character.’ 

“ ‘ The good-for-nothing fellow I ’ said Mrs. Fitzhammer. 
‘ He ought to be in prison ; or any other man who will 
deceive a poor girl in this way.’ 

“ I had heard enough ; so I said to them, ‘ Ladies, 


ALONE. 


85 


it will be just as agreeable to me if you will discuss my 
affairs elsewhere.’ 

“ Mother could no longer be restrained. I never saw 
her so excited. ‘ What you say is false, and you know 
it ! ’ she exclaimed. ‘ You came here on purpose to insult 
us: your expressions of sympathy are as false as your 
own hollow hearts, and may ’ — 

“‘Mother! don’t, don’t say any thing that you will 
be sorry for,’ I interposed. 

“ By this time, the intruders (Reid smiled to see how 
studiously she avoided calling them ladies') were beyond 
hearing ; for the vehemence of mother’s look and man- 
ner so startled them, that they moved with no laggard 
steps.” 

“ The woman from Albright came here at Mrs. Fitz- 
harnmer’s instigation,” remarked Reid. 

“ The woman from Albright ” ! How Helen thanked 
him in her heart for the sympathy thus indicated. 

She looked at him inquiringly. He hesitated a mo- 
ment, and then said, “ You recollect the time, when, 
from your retreat in the rocks, you burst in upon us so 
unceremoniously? Well, we were so much startled by 
what you said, that we took no notice of your hiding- 
place ; but, on my return to Lakeside, I had a curiosity 
to examine it. I did so; then sat down to ponder, 
and got caught there, — not exactly caught, either ; for I 
was not discovered : but those who sat there, and slan- 
dered and planned, and planned and slandered, little im- 
agined that they had an unseen auditor.” 

“So you played eavesdropper, did you?” laughed 
Helen. 

“ Not intentionally, but most effectually ; for I not 


86 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


only learned that you had been absent and had re- 
turned, but that they intended to drive you away. 
Mrs. Fitzhaminer, or Fitznoodle as Granger calls her,” 
— he glanced furtively at her as he pronounced that 
name, and was sorry to see a spasmodic contraction of 
the muscles about the mouth, as if from sudden pain 
She loves him still ! I fear there is little hope for 
me,” was his inward comment) ; but he continued, — 
“ had heard your name from her Cousin Ella ; and she 
had gathered it from Granger, as he muttered it in his 
sleep. 

“ The woman had no idea as to who you were, or 
where you lived ; but when Noodle, here, came to Lake- 
side, and heard you spoken of, she concluded that you 
were the same, and, putting this and that together, drew 
her own conclusions as to the parentage of your child. 
Of course, with such a precious morsel of gossip, she 
had to go to Albright as quickly as she could get there. 

“ Ella Ward was a proud girl : she is proud still, — so 
proud that she would stop at nothing. I hardly think 
murder itself would deter her, if she could thus avert 
threatened disgrace from any one connected with her ; 
that is, could she so plan it as to escape detection. As 
to love, I doubt if she knows what it is ; but she is as 
cruel as she is proud, and as deceitful as cruel, — a per- 
fect snake in the grass, unless she has one fast, and 
then she does not hesitate to show her colors.” 

Helen listened more for another than for herself ; that 
is, wronged and disgraced as she was, the prevailing feel- 
ing in her woman’s heart was pity for the man who 
called such a woman wife. 

Reid noted each expression of her face, and read them 


ALONE. 


87 


aright too ; but he continued : “ I fear, Helen, that she 
will do you some serious injury yet/’ 

“ She has done so already : she has killed my moth- 
er.” She paused a little, in order to gain more self-con- 
trol, and then resumed the narration which had been in- 
terrupted by Reid’s remarks. 

“ I used every means in my power to soothe mother’s 
excited feelings. , I had noticed, since my return from 
Maine, that she was not as strong as usual ; and I feared 
that she would be sick in consequence. She calmed 
down after a little, or, at least, she seemed calm ; but I 
now know that it was only the seeming ; for before night 
she was in a high fever, and with so much pain in her 
head, that, for several hours, she was delirious. 

“ Toward morning she became quiet, and slept some ; 
but it was several "days before she so far recovered as to 
seem like herself. In the mean time, I had found a note 
under the door, one morning, directed to me, and 'de- 
manding that I should leave the place. I kept this from 
mother, of course. Three mornings afterward, I found 
another of the same purport, only more threatening. 
I think mother must have found something of the kind, 
too, from the way she looked and acted. 

“ In just three days more, I found another. I am 
quite certain that mother saw me pick that up, though 
she said nothing. All that day she had a sort of help- 
less, bewildered look, — like to one who has struggled 
and given up. It was pitiful, and I could hardly bear 
it ; still, I did not let her know that I noticed it. 

“ This last note stated, that, if there were not some 
signs of leaving by such a time, there would be measures 
taken to make me go. That night I saw all four of the 


88 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


women I have named prowling around the house. They 
staid perhaps an hour, but left without any offensive 
demonstrations. The next day, mother seemed much 
better : still, I trembled all the time, — not for myself, but 
for her ; for I knew that there was mischief plotting. 

“ The time came named in the note. The day passed 
off as usual ; but, just after midnight, there came a loud 
rap upon the door, when the woman from Albright — I 
knew her by her voice < — called out, ‘ W ait a moment : 
we haven’t the tar and feathers quite ready.’ ” 

“ My God ! ” exclaimed Reid ; “ I wish I had been 
here ! ” 

“ Mother screamed and fainted ; came to, and fainted 
again. IJiad all I could do to keep her from going into 
convulsions. This lasted for an hour, I should think. 
There had been no further disturbance during the time ; 
but, just as I had succeeded in quieting her somewhat, 
there came a heavy stone against the door, and another 
crashino; through the window. 

“ This was the night but one before you returned. 
There were no further signs of hostility ; but, from that 
hour, mother sank rapidly. I did not summon a physi- 
cian, for I felt that it would be of no use ; and, further, 
why should she stay here to suffer ? I know that she 
is at rest now ; and it is easier to bear my load alone 
than to feel thaf she is grieving over me all the time.” 

And then, as if utterly broken down with a sense of 
her desolation, she bowed her head upon her boy’s 
bright curls, and wailed, “ O mother, mother ! ” 

“ Not alone, dear one, if you will only give me the 
right to protect you,” said Reid tenderly. 

“ Don’t I oh, don’t ! ” she fairly shrieked. “ I have 


ALONE. 


89 


vowed ; and I can not go back, I will not go back ! 
I must stand alone, and vindicate the sex that would 
crush me, — must show them that a woman is not 
ruined because she has trusted and been deceived.’^ 

“ Helen ! Miss Harlow ! listen to me.’’ 

“No, I will not listen to you. I listened to one 
man, to my everlasting sorrow.” 

Reid was silent ; while Helen was shaken like a leaf 
in the wind with the tempest of her grief. 

“ Pardon me,” said she, after the storm of feeling 
had somewhat subsided : “ I did not intend to be unjust ; 
but it can not be.” 

“ You are unjust to yourself,” he said. 

“ I should be, if I should listen to you, — both to you 
and to myself. I respect you more than any other 
man living ; but my heart is dead within me. I have 
no love for any one ; and I can conceive of no greater 
wrong to man, or woman either, than marriage without 
love.” 

“ I will take the responsibility of bringing your dead 
heart to life with the warmth of my love, if you will 
only give me the opportunity.” 

“ But I dare not take the responsibility of giving you 
the opportunity. Not loving you, it would be unjust to 
you ; and, if I did love you, I certainly could not lay 
such a burden upon you.” 

“ But what will you do here all alone ? ” 

“ I have not had time to decide yet, but shall be able 
to form some plan in a few days. I do not think my 
persecutors will trouble me any more just yet ; and to 
marry now, even if there were no other objection, I 
would not ; for it would look as though I did it simply 
for protection.” 


90 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ O Helen, Helen ! how proud you are ! ” 

“ It may be pride, though I had not looked upon it 
in that light.” 

“ It certainly is pride, — pride that stands in the 
way both of your happiness and mine.” 

“ Not of mine, Mr. Reid ; for, from henceforth, there 
is no happiness for me but in carrying out my purpose, 
— that of educating my boy, and forcing the world to 
respect both him and his mother.” 

“ And when your own nobleness has won to you one 
who would so gladly aid you in carrying out your pur- 
pose, you will not accept what you have won.” 

“ To do as you wish would defeat my purpose ; for 
it is alone., and not under the shadow of a man’s name, 
that I must do this. No, it is of no use : I must bear 
my burden alone.” 



A WOMAiV'6^ HATE. 


91 


CHAPTER VI. 

A woman’s hate. 


“ Hell has no fury like a woman scorned.” 

ONSIDERING the relative positions of 
Mrs. Granger and Helen, it would seem 
strange to apply the above to the former ; 
for Helen, to all appearance, was the one 
scorned. But really it was not so ; and 
Mrs. Granger knew it. She knew in her soul that her 
husband had more respect, more love, for Helen Har- 
low than for any other woman living. 

She cared not for his love, only so far as appearances 
were concerned; but that he should love another 
aroused all the vindictiveness of her nature: and, 
further, that the public should see and note it, as she felt 
that it would, now that there had been a clew given, — 
an indication in that direction. 

Mrs. Granger, though destitute of those traits of 
character which make woman lovely, make her 
worthy of the name, was still a very close reasoner. 
She knew, that, when once the trail was found, a more 
than bloodhound keenness was sure to follow it up ; and 
how she cursed the folly of the woman, who, thinking 
to serve her, had given that clew ! She went farther 
back than that : she cursed herself for the folly that 



92 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


had led -her even to mention aught of her domestic 
affairs to “ the rattle-pate.” 

The woman fairly writhed as she thought of the 
comment! that would be made among both high and 
low ; aggravating herself still more by dwelling upon 
them, putting them into words, and repeating them 
over and over : “ There goes Granger’s wife, — a mighty 
proud woman ! But they say her husband doesn’t care 
much for her : they say he has a boy at Lakeside not 
much older than the one he has by his wife.” 

And again : “ They say that Granger’s boy at Lake- 
side is smarter and better looking than any he has at 
home ; ” or, “ I wonder if he does nothing toward the 
support of that child and his mother ? ” or, “ They say 
th^t he loves that girl now better than he does his 
wife.” And again: “She is younger and better looking 
than his wife : he was a fool for not marrying her.” 
“ Oh ! you know that old Ward was rich, and this girl 
poor : and that makes all the difference in the world.” 

And thus the miserable woman tortured herself, till, 
becoming desperate, she resolved upon desperate means 
to put an end to such annoyances. Helen thought that 
she would be let alone for a while, — long enough to enable 
her to think and plan for the future ; but in this she was 
mistaken. True, so far as those who lived at Lakeside 
were concerned, there would have been no further 
trouble whatever ; for the death of Mrs. Harlow, together 
with the influence of Mr. Gordon in his excellent ser- 
mon, had so softened their feelings that they were will- 
ing to give her a chance to live, to say the least. 

But with Mrs. Granger it was different. The more 
the feelings of the people were softened toward Helen, 


A WOAIAN’S HATE. 


93 


the more bitter she became ; and, on the very night of’ 
all others when one would suppose that there could be 
no heart hard enough to disturb the doubly desolate 
girl, — the first night after the funeral upon which she had 
been alone with her child and Susan, — there were steps 
taken that would have sent her and her boy beyond the 
reach of earthly malice, had it not been for one of those 
unaccountable occurrences which so often frustrate the 
best-laid plans. Sleeping as soundly as they were, with 
the exhaustion which follows excitement of all kinds, and 
especially that of grief, but for this they would not have 
waked till too late. 

Reid had seen Mrs. Granger in town just at dusk ; and 
there was something in her look that gave him an uneasy 
sensation, though, after the moment, he thought little of 
it. Still, he learned, afterward, that there had been in- 
quiries made about nine o’clock in the evening, to learn 
if he was at the inn. He had retired early ; and the boy 
said that Mrs. Granger wished to see him before she re- 
turned to Albright, but that in the morning would do 
as well, if he would call before the stage went out. 

About eleven o’clock, Reid was wakened out of a 
sound sleep very suddenly ; and with so strong a feeling 
of something wrong somewhere, that he found it impos- 
sible to sleep again. Under an influence for which he 
could not account, he arose, dressed, and walked out into 
the open air. Once out of doors, he involuntarily took the 
road leading toward Mrs. Harlow’s, and had traversed 
more than half the distance before he was aware of the 
fact. 

“ What does this mean ? ” he asked as he came to 
himself. “ What a fool I am ! I’ll go back and go to 


94 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


bed again ; ” and, as he supposed, suiting the action to the 
word, started back ; but, instead oF doing so, he kept 
straight ahead, not knowing the difference till he came 
in sight of Helen’s house. Here he stopped again, 
cursed himself for the infatuation that seemed determined 
to take him there in spite of fate, and would really have 
turned back, had he not caught sight of a female form 
ahead of him, and a little to one side, stealing with cat- 
like tread through the bushes. 

Every sense was now fully awake ; and, stepping quick- 
ly into the shadow of a large oak, he watched the move- 
ments of the figure ahead of him. She seemed to have 
caught a faint sound ; for she stopped, looked back, and 
appeared half inclined to go back, but finally went on. 
Having reached the house, she paused a while, listened 
intently, looked in every direction ; and, seeming satisfied 
that all was right, she proceeded to gather together some 
chips, shavings, and what other combustible material she 
could find. This done, she applied a match to the whole, 
watched till she saw that it was bemnninff to burn, and 
then turned to leave. 

Reid, in the mean time, had been getting closer and 
closer, and was now so near, that, but for the fact that 
she had taken the precaution to cover her face, he could 
have recognized her. But this was not to avail her long ; 
for, as she turned, one strong hand grasped her arm, and 
another tore off the mask, and — Mrs. Granger stood 
revealed. 

She paled to the hue of death ; but her self-possession 
did not forsake her, and the next instant the flash of steel 
was seen. 

“Devil!” exclaimed Reid, as he seized the uplifted 


A WOMAN HATE. 


95 


hand in time to arrest the blow. “ Devil! what do you 
mean ? ” • 

“Fool ! what do you mean ? ” she hissed between her 
set teeth. “ What do you mean, coming here on a 
midnight assignation with a woman whose mother is 
hardly cold in the grave? Shame, shame I ” 

“ The insinuation is worthy of one who comes here 
with arson and murder in her heart. Look there ! ” said 
he, crushing with his foot the fast-kindling blaze.- 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” she laughed ; “ wouldn’t it have been 
nice to have smoked you out, like rats from a hole ? A 
good blaze here, and then a wet blanket to smother it, 
and shut in all the smoke, only what could have passed 
into the house through the cat and key holes.” 

Reid was dumb with amazement at such cool assur- 
ance ; while she continued, “ Oh I I wish I had only 
been a little quicker, and then had the whole town here 
to have witnessed the sport. I think the warmth of 
their charity would have abated somewhat, notwith- 
standing the Rev. Mr. Gordon’s eloquence.” 

“ What does this mean ? ” said Helen, coming to the 
door ; for the noise had awakened her, and she had arisen 
• to ascertain the cause. 

“ It means,” said Mrs. Granger, “ that you are 
caught, notwithstanding your slyness. A pretty time this 
to receive midnight visits from gentlemen I But for the 
fact tlih your mother was no better than yourself, she 
would rise from her grave to reproach you.” 

“ And how came you here at this hour, madam ? ” 

“ I came to watch you, you shameless creature ; and I 
have learned what I wished to know.” Reid still held 
her by the arm, and Helen looked inquiringly at him. 


06 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW 


He pointed to the smothered flame. If I believed 
that spirits revisited the earth,” said lie, “ I should cer- 
tainly think that your mother had come from the grave 
to protect instead of reproaching you ; for I was wakened 
from my sleep, and brought here, by some power beyond 
myself.” 

Here Mrs. Granger gave a sudden wrench, and, thus 
freeing herself, started swiftly toward town. Reid fol- 
lowed, and was soon so far in advance as to turn and 
intercept her. 

“ What do you mean ? ” she demanded. “ Do you 
wish to murder me ? ” 

“ It sounds well for you to talk of being murdered, 
madam, — don’t it ? ” 

“ I don’t know why else you should be following 
me.” 

“ I demand to know what further wickedness you 
are intent upon ; and I swear to you, madam, that, if 
you dare to utter your accursed falsehoods further than 
you have already done, it will be the worse for you.” 

“ Do you threaten me, sir ? Recollect that I have a 
husband to protect me.” 

‘‘ And so has Miss Harlow one who will protect her 
with his life, if necessary, — one who would be only 
too glad to be her husband, if she would consent. And 
as to your husband, I should laugh to see you influen- 
cing him against her.” # 

This last rernark was more just than wise ; or so he 
thought when he saw its effect upon the desperate 
woman before him : but perhaps it was as well in the 
end. 

She evidently felt its force, and, for several moments, 


A WOMAN’S HATE. 


97 


was nearly choking with rage. She waited, however, 
till she could speak calmly, and then said, — 

“ I see, Mr. Reid, what you wish. You think to 
frighten me into silence ; but I am not to be influenced 
by fear. I have some regard, however, for my hus- 
band’s feelings ; and I should grieve to have him know 
what a wretch he has for a friend. On his account, I 
will promise to keep silence as long as you do.” 

“ Fiend ! ” said Reid, stepping aside, “ fiend, go ! ” 
She hurried forward, and he followed, determined not 
to lose sight of her till sure tliat she was where she 
could do no more mischief that night. After seeing 
her safe within doors, he watched till the morning 
broke, to be certain that she did not leave again ; and 
then went back to his room, and slept till far into the 
forenoon. When he arose, the staoje for Albright had 
been gone more than an hour. It was then that he 
learned of the message that had been left the night 
before, and knew that it was done on purpose to learn 
if he was there or with Helen. 

“ She will keep silence so long as I do I ” said he ; 
repeating Mrs. Granger’s words of the night before. 
“ She evidently fears me, though determined not to show 
it ; and, consequently, will keep her promise. But I 
shall tell Granger all about this, that he may help to 
watch the fiend, and keep her from doing Helen harm. 
My God ! I wish she would consent to marry me, and 
let me take her away from this accursed place.” 

At first he felt inclined to make the whole story 
public. When he thought of the singular manner in 
which he came to be there, in connection with the 
prejudice against Helen, he knew that his story would 
7 


98 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


be questioned, to say the least. “ I could not believe 
it, if I did not know it to be true,” said he to himself. 
So, on the whole, he concluded to keep quiet, and Watch 
for further developments. 

He visited Helen again, however, talked the matter 
over, and renewed his offer of marriage. 

She smiled in spite of herself. “ Have you so mis- 
taken me, Mr. Reid,” said she, “ as to suppose that a 
thing of this kind could influence or change my deter- 
mination ? ” 

“ I might have known better,” he replied ; “ for you 
are different from any woman I have ever met. But 
there is one thing you can not do : you can not pre- 
vent my watching over you ; and rest assured that I 
shall make it the business of my life.” 

“ While I can but appreciate the feeling, Mr. Reid, 
I must say that I think you could find a more worthy 
object to live for,” was her tearful reply ; for his devo- 
tion moved her more strongly than she was willing to 
acknowledge. 



MORE REAPING, 


99 


CHAPTER VII. 

MORE REAPING. 


“Darest thou to do the wrong ? Then, when thou least art looking, shall the 
judgment of that wrong overtake thy lagging steps.” — L. W. 


RS. GRANGER went back to her home, 
and kept the silence she had promised ; 
not because she wished, but because she 
could not speak the lie her heart con- 
ceived, without touching her idol, — fam- 

her little home, and went into Lakeside 
to live; partly because she felt more safe there than 
so far away from others, and partly because she thought 
it best to bend a little to the prejudices of the people. 

In the village, her incomings and outgoings would 
be open to all ; and, further, she would necessarily be 
brought more into such contact as would tend to wear 
away the reserve which she had very naturally acquired 
from a constant sense of her position. 

This reserve tended more to beget distrust than con- 
fidence; and, feeling the force of the remarks of the 
minister on the day of her mother’s funeral, she re- 
solved to break through it, — to do her part, at least, 
toward removing prejudice from the public mind. 

Consequently, she opened a fancy-store, — no very 



100 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


large establishment ; one that was simply calculated to 
meet the wants of a country village. But it was a busi- 
ness, which, while it did not call gentlemen about her, 
showed that she desired to win the confidence of her 
own sex. She next sat down and wrote a plain, 
straightforward letter addressed to the public, had 
about fifty copies printed, and gave them to the ladies 
of the place as she had opportunity. 

In this letter she appealed to their better feelings as 
women ; told them that she had been misunderstood ; 
that her position in reference to the past was, that, so far 
as the sin, the moral obliquity, of the act was concerned, 
it did not truly belong to her. 

“ The weakness, the folly of trusting,” said she, “ is 
mine, and I accept the suffering that it naturally brings ; 
for if you suppose for a moment, that, even with kind- 
ness and sympathy, to say nothing of the bitter scorn 
that is unjustly poured upon the head of foolishly trust- 
ing girlhood, — if you imagine, even without the scorn, 
that it is a pleasant thing to be a mother with no father’s 
hand to caress or father’s loving eyes to smile upon your 
darling, you are very much mistaken. 

“Nay; this heart-hunger is so keen as at times to 
make the sufferer almost indifferent to either smiles or 
frowns from other sources. No, no, friends ; I meditated 
no wrong, for I meditated not at all. I only loved, nay, 
worshipped, an idol ; and how could I worship, and 
suppose that the worshipped one would counsel mo 
wrong ? Therefore, I say, the folly, the weakness, of a 
child (I was but a child) were mine ; but the sin belongs 
to another, and I never will accept it. 

“ In that hour when I learned that my idol was false, 


MORE REAPING. 


101 


I woke to womanhood ; and, in the strength of that wo- 
manhood, I vowed that I would not sink, that I would 
rise, that the world sliould yet learn to do me justice. 
And now, — mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters of 
Lakeside, — will you aid me, by your confidence and your 
patronage, to support myself and child honorably ? or will 
you turn away, thus planting thorns in my path ? 

“ You ask, ‘ Why do I not give up the name of my 
betrayer to public scorn ? ’ It would do no good. He is 
a man., — a strong., self-sustaining man; therefore the 
world would not reject him. He now has a wife ; and 
why make her unhappy ? No : leave him alone to the 
stings of his own conscience, and to the exactions of 
violated law. I am better off than he is. I have coun- 
seled no wrong, betrayed no trusting heart, broken no 
solemn vows ; and unless God’s justice is a farce, but 
another name for wrong, I repeat it, I am better off than 
he is.” 

This, of course, was variously received ; but, on the 
whole, it did good. Mr. Reid’s business led him to 
the place frequently, and he always spoke of Helen in 
terms of the highest respect ; declaring boldly that she 
had refused him, together with the reasons why. Mr. 
Gordon and his wife, from Glencove, always called upon 
her whenever they came into the place ; and, altogether, 
the people began to think, that perhaps it wouldn’t hurt 
them to look at her goods. Helen had good taste ; and 
her selections were so well made, that, ’looking, they 
were pretty sure to purchase. 

So, step by step, her rooms became quite a place of re- 
sort ; though, through all, she so carried herself, that 
those who approached her well understood that she re- 


102 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


spected herself ; that she made no concessions, nor asked 
none, on account of the past. 

In the mean time, Reid had informed Granger of the 
steps taken by his wife wlien at Lakeside ; and, between 
the two, they kept so good a watch upon her that she 
dared not make another move, for the time at least, 
though she watched and waited. 

o 

Some four years had passed since the death of Mrs. 
Harlow, when Granger was agreeably surprised by a 
visit from an uncle — his mother’s only brother — from 
Maine. This uncle was none other than the Hon. 
Charles Edson, Helen’s father ; though of this fact 
Granger knew nothing. 

Mrs. Granger was in her element. “ Mr. Granger’s 
uncle, the Hon. Mr. Edson from Maine,” was the stand- 
ing topic of conversation : friends were invited, and 
there was a grand time generally. 

Mrs. Grant was about the only one in Lakeside who 
had not given up persecuting Helen. She said that 
when people were penitent, it was time enough to forgive 
them ; it was all tliat was required of any one : and, for 
her part, she thought the way that even those who call 
themselves Christians were encouraging that girl was 
a warrant for sin ; and she shouldn’t be surprised if it 
came home to them some day, in the persons of their 
own daughters. 

Feeling thus, she of course sympathized with Mrs. 
Granger, and whenever she came to Albright, which 
was twice or three times a year, was well received. 
Still, she was not exactly such a person as Mrs. Gran- 
ger wished to introduce to her best company ; conse- 
quently, she felt somewhat annoyed to have an ex fra 


MORE REAPING. 


103 


visit at this time. But it could not be helped ; so Mrs. 
Grant also had the high privilege of making the ac- 
quaintance of an honorable. 

With her prying disposition, she was certain to recol- 
lect every circumstance that ministered to this propen- 
sity. She learned, before Mr. Edson came in, that he 
was from Ross Cove, Maine ; for Mrs. Granger, in an in- 
direct way, was trying to prepare her for the ordeal by 
giving her to understand that the honorable gentleman 
was very dignified, — indeed, that she felt quite in awe of 
him herself: and, in doing this, she, of course, mentioned 
his place of residence. 

Mrs. Grant recollected that it was the same place from 
which the letters came and were sent to, that had 
puzzled her so much ; so she resolved to find out some- 
thing more about the matter. When Mr. Edson came 
in, she detected the resemblance between him and 
Helen immediately. Here was food for her curiosity ; 
and she was sure to follow up the line that was thus put 
into her possession. 

“ Mr. Edson,” said she, as soon as she could with 
half a show of decency approach the subject, — “ Mr. 
Edson, did you ever know any one in your place by the 
name of Harlow?” 

“ There is a widow lady there by that name, mad- 
am.” 

“ There was a Mrs. Harlow who used to live near 
Lakeside ; and her daughter has named her boy Edson, — 
Charles Edson ; and I thought you might be a former 
acquaintance of the old lady’s, sir.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! and do you know the lady’s maiden 
name ? ” 


104 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ Harlow : she told me that she did not change her 
name in marrying.” 

“ Do you know where she resided before she came 
here ? ” 

“ I do not, sir, — that is, not positively : somewhere 
in Maine, I believe.” 

Here Mrs. Granger interposed. “ It is nothing 
strange, Mrs. Grant, for a gentleman _in Mr. Edson’s 
position to have children named after him. There 
was mother’s cousin, Albion Field, — Gov. Field of 
Maine. I have heard her say, that, during his term 
of office, he was very popular with the people, — Cousin 
Field was ; and, during his term of office, there were, at 
the least, a hundred boys named for him. Indeed, I 
should not be surprised, if the truth was known, if 
there were twice that number ; for you can hardly go 
into a neighborhood in the State but you will find an 
Albion F., — perhaps two or three of them.” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Grant : “ I do not doubt it in 
the least. Every one of my boys is named for a presi- 
dent or some great general, — Washington, Madison, 
Monroe, Lafayette.,- The last was a Frenchman, and 
I don’t like the French very well ; but then he was so 
good a man, and the friend of Washington too.” 

“ How many boys have you, madam ? ” asked Mr. 
Edson, smiling. 

“ Only four, sir; and I never give my children two 
names. I don’t believe in such nonsense ; but I some- 
times think it would have been more Christian-like if 
I had given some of them Bible-names. But what I 
wanted to say was, I could not have named my boys 
after those great men, if I had never heard of them ; 


MORE REAPING. 


105 


and so Helen Harlow must have heard of you in some 
way, or she could not have named her boy for you : 
and, as she was brought up here, I thought her mother 
might have known you some time.” 

Mr. Granger and his wife were terribly annoyed, 
though they tried to conceal it from Mr. Edson ; while 
the latter, at the mention of the name Helen, started, 
changed color, and then, smiling to hide his emotion, 
said, — 

“ Really, I think I must see this lady who has named 
her boy for me ; I may find an old acquaintance.” 

Granger tried to change the subject by proposing 
music ; but Mrs. Grant would not be put off. She con- 
tinued talking of Mrs. Harlow, — the time she came to 
Lakeside, the circumstances connected therewith, &c., — 
till Mr. Edson began to suspect who it was : and then 
he questioned further, till Mrs. Granger began to won- 
der at it ; and Mrs. Grant, elated at having interested 
the gentleman, talked faster than ever. 

The next day, Mr. Granger was surprised by a 
request from his uncle to visit Lakeside with him. “ I 
believe,” said he, “ that this Mrs. Harlow is an old 
acquaintance of mine, though I have never known her 
by that name.” 

“ Mrs. Harlow is dead,” said Granger. 

“ But her daughter, — the one who has named her 
boy for me.” 

“ Is an unmarried woman, and a mother. You do 
not wish to seek such an acquaintance ? ” 

“ Not married ! ” he gasped. 

Granger looked up, and saw that his uncle was as pale 
as death. “ What is the matter ? ” he asked in alarm. 


106 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ The mother dead, and the daughter ruined ! ” he 
continued, without heeding the question ; and then, 
looking up, and seeing Granger’s expression of astonish- 
ment, he said, — 

“I see, Edward, that I must make you my confi- 
dant. Yes : I am satisfied that they are the same ; and, 
if so, Helen Harlow is my own child. Her mother was 
a schoolmate of mine. We grew up together, and — 
and I — I betrayed and forsook her.” 

“ My God, uncle ! and is this true ? ” exclaimed 
Granger, starting to his feet. 

Mr. Edson, mistaken as to the cause of his nephew’s 
emotion, continued : “ I know it : it was a dastardly 
act, — one that, the longer I live, the more I regret. 
But for Helen, I should feel even worse than I do 
about it. It haunted me continually, — the memory of 
it : I tried to put it aside by joining the church ; and, 
for a time, I did flatter myself that the ghost was laid. 
Indeed, I was becoming hard, self-righteous ; when, all 
unexpected, Helen came upon me, and demanded a 
thousand dollars as the price of her silence. She did 
not wish to injure me, — the brave girl! but it was 
her right, and she would have it. She got it too : and, 
though not willingly given, after it was done I felt the 
better for it, have ever since ; for it seemed as if I 
had in part compensated for the wrong. My wife died 
about a year since ; and I came out here hoping to find 
Mary, and, if she was free, to marry her if she would 
have me. Too late, too late ! she is dead, and my 
daughter, my only daughter, disgraced I ” 

Granger groaned aloud. He had hoped that his 
uncle was mistaken ; but the mention of that visit east 


MORE REAPING. 


107 


put it beyond the possibility of doubt that Helen Har- 
low was his own cousin. 

Mr. Edson began to think that there was some cause, 
further than he had supposed, for Mr. Granger’s mani- 
festation of feeling; so he waited in silence for the next 
remark. “ Uncle,” said he, at length, “ I am the wretch 
who seduced your child.” 

“ You ! ” said he, recoiling as if from a serpent, 
while his eyes flashed Are. For one moment he was the 
outraged, angry father ; and the next, the memory of his 
own sin sweeping over him, he sank into the nearest 
seat, and, burying his face in his hands, neither spoke 
nor moved for several minutes. 

At length he looked up, and said, “ My boy, I pity 
and forgive you ; for, though the world may pass a 
different judgment, by just so much as the betrayer is 
guiltier than the betrayed, by so much must you suffer 
more than she.” 

“ I believe it, uncle. Still, society, by apologizing 
for us, and condemning the woman, really tempts us to 
sin.” 

“ Yes : society condemns and pities one party ; but it 
has but little condemnation and less pity — I might say no 
pity — for the other party. The more I think about these 
things, the more it looks to me like practical atheism, — 
a total ignoring of God’s laws, as inherent in his works. 
It recognizes only that which it perceives, or, in other 
words, only that punishment which it inflicts.” 

“ So it seems to me,” said Granger. “ Still, I am no 
metaphysician, and do not claim to be a judge in these 
matters : I only know that I suffer. Oh ! if I had only 
married Helen, how much happier I should be to-day ! ” 


108 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ But how are these things to be remedied, Ed- 
ward ? ” 

“ I know of no other way than to make man feel 
that he must be the greatest sufferer. We are selfish 
beings ; and I sometimes think that it is the only chan- 
nel through which we can be reached, — self-love.” 

“ But we are told that we must ignore self, to be 
good.” 

“ I can’t help it if we are ; we can not do it ; and, 
if we look closely, we shall find that we are told many 
things which will not stand the test.” 

~ “ Perhaps we are right ; in fact, I know that you 
are: but I must go to Lakeside, and see Helen. Will 
you go with me ? ” 

“No, I can not. I have not seen her since before I 
married Mrs. Granger ; have never seen my boy, 
neither do I deserve to. Still, I should like to have one 
good look into his eyes, one kiss from his innocent 
lips.” 

“ Well, go with me then. I am sure there is nothing 
wrong in your going to Lakeside with me. People 
know the child is yours, of course.” 

“ No : she has never told ; and I was so villainously 
sly, that people did not even suspect I was more to her 
than any one else.” 

“ Strange.” 

“ She is a remarkable woman, uncle, though she was 
but an inno(!ent child when I, first met her, — but 
seventeen, not hardly that, when her child was born.” 

“ One ought to be a woman at seventeen.” 

“ And we are hardly called men at twenty-one. I 
was twenty-four when I me^t Helen ; she less than six- 


MORE REAPING. 


109 


teen. Woman is counted as the weaker vessel ; yet, at 
an age when we are looked upon as mere boys, she is 
expected to stand firm against all our flattery, our 
sophistry, our promises, our strongest oaths : she is 
expected to stand firm against all this, or she' is 
condemned, cast aside, perhaps crushed into a life of 
infamy.” 

“ I know that what you say is true, Edward, — know 
that man claims the right to test a woman thus, and 
society accords it. Not directly, in so many words, but 
just as really ; for, unless the circumstances are pecu- 
liarly aggravated, the frowns we receive from wo- 
man are like those that a partial mother gives to a 
child. Pleased with his smartness, and yet feeling that 
it will not do to openly approve, she frowns in such a 
manner that the stimulus to perseverance is even 
greater than that of smiles.” 

“And there is just where we are wronged, uncle. 
Why, I have heard young men, even .church-members, 
boast that it was their right to take all that they could 
win in this direction. 1 have two now in my mind, — 
Asa and Henry Sidell, — who used openly to say this. 
Still, they were leading church-members, generally first 
in the prayer-meeting and other meetings. The girls 
of the neighborhood knew this, but they never refused 
their company.* 

“ Yes ; and there was a case in our neighborhood, 
where a physician was waiting upon a young lady, — 
one of the first in the place : her father was in the State 
Legislature at the time of her death, as representative 

* This may be looked upon as an extreme case ; but it is a fact, and but one 
out of the many that I might give. 


110 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


from his district, and had filled that office year after 
year. Well, he used all his powers of persuasion, 
threatening to forsake her if she did not yield, and 
all without success. Finally he left her, and went to 
waiting upon another lady ; and this so affected her 
that she took poison, — thus practically accepting his 
right to test her, and so loving him through all, that she 
chose to die rather than to live without him.” * 

“ The same one that I have heard mother tell of. 
Uncle Charles ; and she said that Dr. Rhonell always 
acted, after that, as though haunted by Statia Jenning’s 
ghost.” 

“ True ; and the balance of his life was one of intense 
wretchedness, — another instance of the wrong done to 
man, as well as to woman, by these mistaken ideas. 
But about going to Lakeside ; if people do not know 
who the father of Helen’s child is, I can’t see what 
there is to hinder.” 

, “ My wife knows.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“ Yes; she has found it out^ And, though her pride 
will keep her from telling others, would cause her to 
repel such a supposition even, still, she hates Helen so 
badly, that I sometimes fear she will be the death of 
her yet ; and, when we are alone, she does not spare 
me, you may be sure. You can form some idea now 
of my domestic bliss. It is deserved, I know; but 
I sometimes feel that my punishment is greater than I 
can bear.” 

“ But how did Mrs. Granger learn this ? ” 

“ They say that I gave her the clew in my sleep ; 


♦Another fact. 


MORE REAPING. 


Ill 


and she has followed it up, till she knows as well as 
we know any thing that we can not make oath to. 
She has been to Lakeside, has seen Helen and the 
child, and, in company with others, so frightened poor 
Mrs. Harlow, that it was, no doubt, the means of 
her death.” 

“ I can’t see why she should trouble Mary.” 

“ The intention was to drive Helen out of the place. 
But it was a failure ; and the death of her mother, to- 
gether with other things, so changed the tide of popular 
opinion, that she is now respected in spite of the 
chances against her.’ 

“ How old is her boy ? ” • 

“ Six years ; yes, nearly seven.” 

“ The little puss ! ” said Mr. Edson, smiling, in spite 
of himself, at the recollection of the time in which she 
tortured his Judgeship so effectually. “ The little 
puss ! no wonder she was determined to have her thou- 
sand when she came to Ross Cove ! But I little sup- 
posed that she had a mother’s love to urge her on. 
Her boy was over two years old then.” 

“ It was soon after her return that Mrs. Harlow 
died, and Helen moved to the village. The very chari- 
table people of that place, because she would not explain 
to them her business, tell them where she had been, 
and why, — because of this, they imagined the very 
worst things possible, and went farther than they would 
have done at any other time.” 

“ Well, I shall go and see Helen, at all events ; and, 
if I could do so without compromising her mother, 
would acknowledge her before the world.” 


112 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

TESTED AGAIN. 

“ But those who to the end endure 
The cross, shall wear the crown.” 

“ Practically, it is the cross that wears the crown ; and the only way in which 
it can possibly become ours is for us to carry that cross, till, by so doing, we be- 
come strong enough to pluck the crown from thence, and place it upon our own 
brows.” — L. W. 

“The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent taketh it by 
force.” 

S this the place where Miss Harlow 
resides ? ” And Helen looked up to see 
the form of Judge Edson of Ross Cove, 
Me., standing before her. 

For one brief moment her self-posses- 
sion forsook her. The blood flooded her face, and then, 
receding, left her as pale as a living person can well 
be ; then, summoning back her proper self, she re- 
plied, — 

“ It is, sir. In what can I serve you ? ” 

“ Helen, my child ! ” said he, extending his hand. 

She responded by a startled “ Hush ! ” but it was 
too late ; for the quiet assistant who stood just beyond 
the range of the judge’s eye had heard all ; and, before? 
night, it was known all over Lakeside that Helen Har- 
low’s father had come to see her. Of course, there was 




TESTED AGAIN. 


113 


a sensation ; and “ Like mother, like daughter ” was 
echoed by many a lip. 

Mrs. Grant had just returned ; but she was so 
elated by the discovery, — so elated because it con- 
firmed her previous suspicions, — that she could not 
trust to sending a letter, but must needs go right back 
to Albright, and tell her “ very dear friend,” Mrs. 
Granger, what she had learned. 

“ Impossible I ” exclaimed that lady, holding up both 
hands in astonishment. 

“It is not only possible, but true, my dear friend ; 
for ’Mandy Smith (’Mandy assists Helen, sometimes, 
wlien business is brisk ; though I can’t see, for my 
part, how any mother can let a daughter go there, and 
I told Mrs. Smith so only yesterday) — well, ’Mandy 
was standing just a little out of sight when the Hon. 
Mr. — what do you call him ? — came in. They didn’t 
know — nobody in Lakeside — who it was ; but I had 
seen him here, and told them. Well, as I was saying, 
’Mandy was standing just out of sight when he came 
in ; and says he, ‘ Helen, my child ! ’ but she looked 
scared like, and says she, ‘ Hush I ’ ” ' 

“ Oh, nonsense, Mrs. Grant ! it don’t follow, from 
that, that he is her father. Elderly gentlemen often 
say ‘ my child ’ to those who are not even relatives. 
It is a common thing ; and then his position, you know, 
gives him the right to feel a fatherly interest in those 
who have come from the same State. A gentleman of 
his standing, Mrs. Grant, from one of the best families 
in the State, a Christian mother, and a Christian him- 
self, — the idea is preposterous, that he should claim 
such as her as his child ! ” 


114 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ O Mrs. Granger ! you are so innocent, know so 
little of the ways of the world ! Such things don’t 
hurt a man. It is a little uncommon, I know, for 
them to own such children ; but then his position is 
such that I suppose he feels sort of independent, and 
can afford to do what we common people could not 
think of doing.’’ 

Mrs. Granger winced to have her own arguments 
turned against her so adroitly, and was proceeding to 
deny further, when she was interrupted with, — 

“ I tell you it is so, Mrs. Granger ; for he don’t deny 
it. The Rev. Mr. Gordon was in town yesterday, — 
the one, you know, who preached Mrs. Harlow’s funeral- 
sermon ; any thing but a Christian, I call him, from 
the course he is taking. And betwixt you and me, 
Mrs. Granger, though I wouldn’t like to say it to every 
one, — but I don’t -believe he takes Helen’s part as he 
does for nothing : ministers are not always better than 
other people, you know. Well, as I was saying, this 
Maine man told Mr. Gordon that it was almost the only 
thing he had ever done which he really regretted, — 
his treatment of Helen’s mother.” * 

Mrs. Granger could dispute the point no longer, of 
course ; but she wished the “ dear friend ” had been 
almost anywhere else but at her house when Uncle 
Edson came, while Mrs. Grant continued, — 

“ Helen is the very image of him. I saw that as 
soon as I looked at him ; and this, with the fact that 
her boy is named for him, decided the question in my 
mind then, as to the relation they sustained to each 
other. I tell you, Mrs. Granger, there is not much 
that escapes my notice.” 


TESTED AGAIN. 


115 


“ I should tliink as much ! ” snapped Mrs. Granger. 

Mrs. Grant, however, was too intent upon her own 
merits to notice the tone in which tliese words were 
uttered. But it is time that we returned to Lakeside. 

How those two words “ My child ! ” thrilled through 
the soul of the poor girl who had never known a 
father’s love ! And, but for the fact that the knowl- 
edge thus unintentionally given to the public would 
bring a stain upon her mother’s memory, she could 
have yielded to the delicious thrill which was thus sent 
through her soul. 

As it was, she turned calmly to her assistant, and 
said, “ I will finish the work you have in hand, Miss 
Smith ; and you can go to Mrs. Miller’s, and get your 
new dress fitted.” 

Now, “ Miss Smith ” would much rather have staid 
there at that particular time ; though, half an hour 
before, she thought, that, if Miss Harlow would only 
spare her to have the dress fitted that day, why, she 
could have it to wear the next Sunday, — a very desir- 
able thing, as every one of her six good dresses had 
been worn at J^ast a dozen times each ; and one gets 
tired, you know, of seeing the same old things so 
long. 

However, there was that in Helen’s manner that 
admitted of no appeal ; so, without a word, she laid 
aside the work referred to, took the material for the 
new dress, and repaired to the dressmaker’s. 

When she was out of hearing, Helen turned to her 
father and said, “ Mr. Edson, was it not enough that 
my mother’s life was blighted by you, that you must 
come here to cast your shadow upon her grave ? ” 


116 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ O Helen, my child ! ” Here Helen cast a glance 
toward her boy. ‘‘ Yes, I know that too, and” — 

“ Charlie, come and kiss mother, and then go and 
play with your marbles, out in^the back yard.” 

The child sprang into his mother’s arms, and was 
held close in a passionate embrace ; then, as he turned 
to go, the judge said, “ And will not Charlie kiss me 
tool ” 

He looked at his mother, and shrank back. “ He is 
timid with strangers,” she said ; then, answering the 
look, — “ never mind, darling ; run along.” He would 
have kissed the stranger, notwithstanding, had she but 
smiled ; and she knew it : but she felt that she could 
not bear it ; and so she sent him away. 

“ Helen, my child, I did not come here to make y-ou 
trouble. I had hoped to find your mother living ; and, 
as my wife has been dead these two years, to induce her 
to marry me, if possible, that I could indeed be a 
father to you.” 

Helen shook her head, while Mr. Edson continued: 
“ I know that it is too late, so far as she is concerned ; 
but you — I have told my boys the story, and they 
wait to welcome you as a sister.” 

“Would they welcome me with my child?” she 
asked. 

Mr. Edson’s countenance fell. “ Perhaps that would 
not be so easy ; still, it might be remedied, — even this 
objection ; for I did not tell them your name, — the 
name your mother bore. I did not know it myself. 
You can still be called Harlow, and pass as a widow.” 

“ Yes ; and be asked, again and yet again, the cause 
of my husband’s death, where he was born, where his 
relatives are, &c. No ; that would never do.” 


TESTED AGAIN. 


117 


“ I don’t see why you could not do it for the sake of 
your child, as your mother did for hers.” 

“ My mother’s ideas and mine may be somewhat 
different, sir ; but, so far as that is concerned, I should 
not go, were it otherwise than it is. I could hardly 
trust myself with one who has once shown himself so 
utterly unworthy of confidence.” 

“ O Helen ! 

‘‘ How did you learn,” she continued, without heed- 
ing his deprecatory words, — “how did you learn that 
I was a mother and not a wife? You said that you 
knew.” 

“ From the child’s father.” 

She looked up in amazement. 

“ Yes, and you will be still more surprised when I 
tell you — what he did not know till recently — that 
he is your own cousin.” 

“ My cousin ! ” 

“ Yes : your cousin, — my own sister’s child. I have 
just come from his house ; and I tell you, Helen, that 
I would rather be in your place than his : you are the 
happier of the two.” 

“ Yes : poor Edward ! he has made a sad mistake,” 
she murmured. 

“ ‘ Poor Edward ! ’ I see, my child, that you pity him, 
notwithstanding the wrong he has done you ; and still, 
you will make no allowance for me. I have suffered 
too. Nay, I very much doubt if my life has been as 
happy as your mother’s was, — not half as happy as it 
would have been with her.” 

Helen arose to her feet. “ Leave me,” said she ; 
‘‘ for I can not bear more now.” 


118 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


He arose also, and stood, with hat in hand, looking 
at her entreatingly. 

,“Go!” she cried, throwing her hands in front of 
her, with the palms turned toward him, as if she would 
ward off even the sense of his presence : “ go ! I 
can not trust you : it is selfishness that prompts you. 
You want a daughter’s love in your old age; but I can 
not, I will not give it ! Oh ! why have you come here 
to disturb the current of my life ? to try to tempt me 
from my life’s work ? Suffered, have you ? It is 
well. Suffer on ; and some time, somewhere, in the 
distant future, you may reach the point of expiation : 
till then, go ! ” And, sinking into a seat, she burst into 
one of those passionate fits of weeping that exhaust 
rather than soothe. 

Without another word, he turned and left her ; but 
he was no sooner out of sight, than her feelings changed, 
and she accused herself of cruelty. Indeed, her course 
toward him had been prompted more by the struggle 
betw^een the yearning for a father’s love, and the cer- 
tainty that she could not carry out her life-purpose if 
she accepted it, than from a spirit of unforgiving bitter- 
ness. 

That same afternoon, — for events always seem to come 
in clusters, — Reid came into the place, and, in passing 
along the street, noticed groups of persons standing to- 
gether in earnest conversation. Coming close to one of 
these before they perceived him, he heard Helen’s name 
mentioned. 

“ What is the matter now ? ” thought he ; then, find- 
ing that they hesitated when they saw him, he went 
boldly up and asked what the excitement w^as. 


TESTED AGAIN. 


119 


“ Nothing,” said one ; “ only Helen Harlow’s father 
is in town.” 

“ Helen’s father I ” Then the conversation he had 
heard that night by the lake flashed across his mind ; and, 
instead of saying, “ I thought he was dead,” he simply 
added, “ Where is he ? ” 

“ At the public-house,” was the reply. 

At first he thought he would go directly there ; but, 
after thinking over the matter, decided to see Helen 
before he did so. She met him calmly, though her face 
still showed traces of the recent storm. 

“ What is it, Helen ? ” he asked. 

“ My father is in town, and the sight of him has called 
up feelings of no very pleasant nature ; still, I shall sur- 
vive, I think,” she replied with a smile. 

“ Survive ! I should like to know what you wouldn’t 
survive ! O Helen ! why will you persist in stemming 
the tide alone ? ” 

“ Hush ! not another word. One is enough to contend 
with in one day. And I don’t feel like talking now ; so, 
if you wish to learn any thing more, go and find Mr. 
Edson. He is at the public-house, I believe.” 

“ Not the Hon. Mr. Edson, from Ross Cove, 
Maine ? ” 

“ The same, sir.” 

“ Edward Granger’s uncle ? ” 

“ Edward Granger’s uncle. But I thought you were 
to ask me no more questions, Mr. Reid ; at least, not 
now.” 

“ I beg your pardon. Miss Harlow. Good-afternoon.” 
But he was no sooner out of the house than the thought, 
“ Now she will believe that I am angry,” induced him 


120 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


to tui*n back, for the purpose of showing her that he was 
not. 

“ I thought you had gone,” said she. 

“ And so I had ; but feared I had not started right, 
and so returned to make sure.” 

She read his thought. “ I knew that you were not 
angry ; so you need not have turned back for that.” 

“ Well, I will go along, then, and hope you will feel 
better when I return.” 

“ Which I hope will not be to-day,” she said, looking 
up with a defiant smile. 

“ Thank you : I will try not to offend.” And again 
she was alone ; but she felt better already. Her conversa- 
tion with him had proved a diversion, gradually bringing 
her back from the depth of feeling into which the visit 
of her father had plunged her ; so she had no need to 
wait for his return ere his hope was realized. 

Reid went to the public-house, and asked for Mr. 
Edson ; introduced himself as a friend of Mr. Granger’s 
of Albright, and was kindly received. After speaking 
upon general topics a while, he said, — 

“ Mr. Edson, you will excuse me if I seem imperti- 
nent : but I have just learned a fact in which I feel much 
interested ; and I wish to have some conversation upon 
the subject.” 

Mr. Edson looked up inquiringly. 

“ I have known Miss Harlow, sir, for some time, and 
respect her very much, and ” — He paused, as if fear- 
ing to offend. 

“ Go on,” said the judge pleasantly. 

Thus encouraged, he continued : “ I have just learned 
that you, sir, are her father ; and permit me to say 


TESTED AGAIN. 


121 


that she is one of whom any father ought to be proud, 
notwithstanding appearances.” 

“ You seem to be her friend, to say the least.” 

“ I am, sir ; I should be happy to make her my wife, 
if she would consent.” 

“ I think, from what I can see and hear, Mr. Reid, 
that she is made of pretty stern stulF ; and I wonder at 
her being in the condition in which I find her.” 

“ She has learned from bitter experience to be what 
she is. Better so than to sink.” And then Reid went 
on to tell of the time that she had overheard the conver- 
sation between him and Granger ; of her vow at that 
time, — a vow which she seemed determined to keep, no 
matter how tempted to change her purpose. 

Mr. Edson listened attentively. “ That explains,” 
said he, “ some remarks she made this afternoon. I 
couldn’t understand what she meant, when, on offering 
to take her home with me, and to recognize her as a 
daughter, she asked me why I had come to tempt 
her.” 

“ She refused you, then ? ” 

“ Most decidedly ; rejected my offers of love and pro- 
tection with scorn, and bade me leave her.” 

“ She was suffering intensely, sir, or she would not 
have done that. 0 sir ! you have but little idea of what 
she has had to endure.” And then he proceeded to tell 
of that other time in the rocks, when he had been con- 
cealed, and had heard all that those women had said ; of 
what he found when he returned four weeks afterward ; 
and, lastly, of that night when he was awakened from 
sleep, and so strangely impelled toward Helen’s home. 

“ My God ! what a demon ! ” exclaimed the astonished 


122 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


listener. “ And she really would have burned them in 
their sleep ! ” 

“ So it seems, though I could bring no proof but my 
own assertion and, if I had told how I came to be there, 
no one would have believed it, as she boldly accused 
me of being there for the worst of purposes, and that 
she had planned to smoke us out, — declared that she 
wished that the whole village was there, as they would 
not have so much charity for Helen then. 

“ Why, she even threatened to go and proclaim that 
she had suspected all was not right, and had followed 
me there on purpose to learn if her suspicions were 
correct.” 

“ And you allowed yourself to be frightened out in 
that manner, Mr. Reid, by threats of a woman ? ” 

“ For the sake of one woman, Mr. Edson, I left 
another to the punishment of her own reflections. I 
wished to protect Helen as far as possible ; and I did 
not wish to stand before the community in such a light 
that all I could do would have the opposite effect. I 
knew that she had no intention of doing this unless I 
forced her to it in self-defense ; and so I decided to 
watch and wait. I told Granger, however, so that he 
could help me watch.” 

“ Help you watch ? ” 

“ Yes ; she has not given up her purpose of injuring 
Helen, I can assure you.” 

“ And I shall not leave her here without another 
effort to induce her to go with me. Will you help me, 
Mr. Reid, to persuade her.” 

“ In the morning I will : I think we had better leave 
her to her own thoughts to-night.” 


TESTED AGAIN. 


123 


“ Poor Helen ! she was but a woman, after all ; and 
how the woman nature pleaded for love and protection ! 
How she hungered for it ! Ah ! but she had trusted 
once, — had trusted, and walked upon thorns ever since. 
Should she accept protection now, and thus deprive 
herself of even the poor privilege of showing that she 
could walk thereon firmly ? Why struggle thus proudly, 
when a husband’s love and a father’s care were urged 
upon her ? ” 

But there was another voice which whispered, “ It 
is not for yourself alone : one successful effort in this 
direction, one demonstration of woman’s power to 
endure and triumph, will put courage into the heart of 
many a poor wronged girl, and keep her from sink- 
ing, perhaps, to the deepest degradation.” And thus 
she struggled and reasoned all the night long. The 
morning showed her pale, haggard even, but quietly 
firm. 

It was thus that her father and lover found her, 
and knew, almost before speaking, what the result of 
their efforts would be. Still, they proffered their re- 
quests, and urged the proudly independent girl, with 
all the eloquence that they could command, to change 
her decision. 

“ I can not, I can not,” was her constant reply. 

“ You mean you will not,” said her father, losing 
his patience at length. 

Her eyes flashed. “Well, I will not, then. Tlie 
only way in which I have won this much, sir, is by 
being true to myself ; and I shall hardly change my 
course now. Had it not been for my self-assertion, 
neither you nor Mr. Reid would have put forth any 
efforts in my behalf.” 


124 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ Helen ! ” 

“ No, Mr. Reid : I do not wish to be unjust to you. 
You have been a true friend ; but it is because I have 
been my own friend, — have been true to myself. 
Had I consented to take the position that the world 
unjustly assigns to such as I, you would never have 
taken the interest in me that you have.” 

“ You are right,” he replied : “ you have commanded 
my respect.” 

“ And I intend to continue to command it, sir ; and 
not for myself only, but for others. There are others, 
and they are found everywhere, who are constantly 
sinking out of sight, only because they have no faith 
in the possibility of reaching solid ground ; let such but 
see that even one has done so, and they, too, will make 
the effort.” 

“ I see your position, Helen,” said her father. “ You 
look upon yourself as a martyr to principle, and glory 
in it.” 

“ And as I will not have that glory taken from me, 
you may as w^ell cease your efforts in that direction,” 
said she, with one of those smiles which so effectually 
forbid further conversation. 


CRAZY JANETS STORY. 


125 


CHAPTER IX. 

CRAZY jane’s story. 


“ Q-od wlnketh not at ignorance, but, by the action of unerring law, still urges 
on to knowledge. The suffering caused by our mistakes is but the lash with 
which our loving mother Nature scourges, us laggards onward in the path which 
leads to Wisdom’s realm.” — L. W. 

“ Get wisdom, and, with all thy gettings, get understanding.” — Bible. 



ND who was Crazy Jane? A poor old 
woman bent with age, who, with frosted 
hair and tottering step, wandered at will ; 
a harmless creature of seventy years, who 
muttered to herself by hours ; and people 
said that she was hopelessly insane. 

Helen was somewhat surprised upon looking up one 
morning, about a year after the above events, to see 
this poor old creature standing in the door of her little 
shop, regarding her very intently. 

Good-morning, mother. Have a seat ? ” said she, 
pushing a chair toward the bent form. 

“ And is it mother that you call the poor old creature ? 
Blessings on the darling ! ” was the response, as she 
took the proffered chair, still regarding Helen with the 
same fixed gaze. 

“ What is it, mother ? any thing I can do for you? ” 
Nothing, nothing. You can do nothing for a poor 


126 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


old creature like me. No, no,” still shaking her head; 
“ nothing for me. I was only looking to see what kind 
of stuff you was made of, that you could still keep your 
eye bright, and yourself clear of a double load all this 
time.” 

“ A double load ? ” 

“Yes, yes, child; a double load. Many a poor 
creature has taken a miserable scamp of a husband to 
help them carry their load of shame, and found, to their 
sorrow, that their last state was worse than the first ; 
that the cover to the shame was heavier than the shame 
itself.” 

Helen smiled. 

“Yes: and ’twas a brave thing that you did, my 
child, — a brave, brave thing ; and when I heard them 
talking about it, — the old rhan and the young one, — 
somewhere nigh on to a year since, I said, ‘ I will look 
upon the face of the lass who could scorn the man who had 
wronged her, and defy the world that would crush her.’ 
But poor old Jane was sick from the cold she took that 
night sleeping under the stars ; was sick for nearly a 
twelvemonth : and they thought, hoped, that she would 
die.” 

“ But why did you sleep out of doors, mother ? ” 

“ And why did I sleep out of doors, do ye ask ? ” 

“ Yes : why did you do it, when there are so many 
houses in this beautiful world ? Surely, no one would 
turn a poor old lady like yourself away from their 
door.” 

“ Oh, but bless her tender heart ! she is callino* me a 
lady, — me that was the wife of old Josh Morgan, and 
the mother of a gallows-bird. A lady ! ha, ha, ha ! ” 


CRA ZY JA NE ’S STOR Y. 


127 


and the poor, withered old creature rocked back and 
forth with an hysterical laugh that presently changed 
to a wild, wailing cry. “ O Johnny ! my poor boy ! 
you was not to blame that your mother planted the 
seeds of murder in your heart before you saw the light 
of this dark world. O Johnny, Johnny ! my poor, 
poor boy ! ” 

Helen finally succeeded in soothing her ; when, going 
back to the question why she had slept out of doors, she 
said, “ I slept out of doors because the proud lady, — she 
was a lady, you know, — she shut the door in my face ; 
telling me that lier house was no place for such as me. 
I was too tired to go further, and too sad to knock at 
another door in that place, — Albright, they call it ; but 
it has been all dark to me. 

“ Yes : I was too tired to travel farther ; and so, in- 
stead of going out at the gate, I slipped around the gar- 
den way, and, crawling under a broad bench, lay down 
and went to sleep. When I waked, there were two men 
sitting upon, that very bench, talking of you ; and when 
the younger one had told the other your story, I said, 
‘ And I will see the darling’s face yet ; ’ and here I am.” 

‘‘ And tired and hungry too, mother. Lie down here 
on this lounge, and rest a little, while I tell Susan to 
make you a good cup of tea.” 

The old lady’s lip quivered. “ Kind, kind ! I might 
have known it: the brave are always kind.” 

“ No great credit to one who expects to be old herself 
some day, and will want some one to take care of her 
then,” said Helen. 

“ Yes, and you will have the care too. When one is 
brave enough to help themselves, all things help them. 


128 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


There’s tlie bright little lad : he will care for the mother 
who was too brave to give him another father when his 
own would not own him. Come here, little one, and let 
a poor bid woman put her hand upon your head and 
bless you.” 

Charlie looked at his mother. “ Yes ; go and see the 
good grandmother, my darling.” 

The child walked quietly up, and looked into the 
old woman’s face with a sort of wondering gaze ; for he 
was not accustomed to seeing very old people. Jane 
regarded him intently for a moment ; and then, sinking 
upon her knees, she clasped her withered hands above 
his head, and said, “ O God of love, wisdom, and 
power ! bless this child, and make him an honest, truth- 
ful man, — one who will say what he means, and mean 
what he says. Amen.” 

“ Amen,” responded Helen. 

“ Yes : and you may well say amen ; for, if he is that, 
his words will deceive no poor maiden, to break her 
heart. And now, when I have rested and eaten, I will 
tell you what has made ‘ Crazy Jane ’ what she is ; 
that is, if you will listen to her story.” 

“ Certainly, certainly, mother, I will listen to your 
story ; but I don’t believe you are as crazy as some peo- 
ple think you are.” 

“ Well, if I ain’t, I ought to be ; for it is haixily 
polite to call people fools or liars. One ought to be 
what he is called ; for it makes the good folks mad if he, 
or especially if she, is not. That is what makes some 
folks hate you so, my bird. You won’t be what they 
say you are.” 

Jane said this in that peculiarly cunning manner 


CRA ZY JANE ’S 8T0R Y. 


129 


which partially insane people so readily assume ; and 
Helen laughed heartily, in spite of herself. 

“ You may laugh, my bird, for you have earned the 
right to laugh: but poor old Jane should never do any 
thing but weep, and gnash her teeth, too, if she had 
any ; but, as it is, she must gum it till the judgment- 
day, I suppose.” 

By this time she was ready to lie down, but made 
Helen promise, first, that she would not let her sleep 
more than half an hour. “ For,” said she, “ I am so deaf 
that I shall not hear Gabriel’s trumpet, if you don’t ; 
and I want to be at the judgment to tell God about my 
boy, and what it was that made him so bad : and maybe 
he will let me suffer for myself and Johnny too ; and 
then Johnny can go to heaven, you know.” 

At this manifestation of mother-love from the poor, 
wrecked creature, Helen could hardly restrain her tears : 
but she gave the required promise ; and the weary head 
was soon resting quietly upon a softer, cleaner pillow 
than it had had for many a long day. 

Helen put the clock back half an hour, giving her an 
hour instead of half of one, and, when she awoke, had a 
good dinner ready for her. This she ate in silence, and 
then lay down and went to sleep again. When she 
awoke the second time, rest and food had so far restored 
her that she appeared quite rational. She did not talk 
much, however, but seemed watching both Helen and 
little Charlie with a quiet sort of interest, as though 
she was taking notes, and forming an opinion of what 
she saw and heard. 

As the evening advanced, she manifested a little rest- 


130 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


lessness, and finally asked, “ Will you shut up for the 
night soon ? ” 

“ Presently,” was the reply ; and then, noticing the 
anxious look upon the wrinkled face, Helen asked, 
“Why?” 

“ Because I wish to tell you the story of my life.” 

“ I should like to hear your story, mother ; but will 
it not worry you too much to tell it to-night ? ” 

“ No : I must tell it to-night, or not at all.” 

This reply startled Helen. She looked at the poor 
creature, and saw that she was perfectly sane ; and, 
recollecting that insane people sometimes recover their 
reason just before they die, she hastened to close the 
blinds and fasten the door, and then sat down to lis- 
ten. 

Jane cleared her throat once or twice ; drew a long 
breath, and tlien began : — 

“ It is a sad story, Miss Harlow, that I have to tell 
you : but it will do you good, — will strengthen you in 
the path you have chosen, and therefore I tell it. 

“To look at me now, one would hardly think that I 
was ever beautiful ; but I was. I was the oldest and 

the idolized child of Wilson Ashton of County, 

in this State. You look surprised, and well you may ; 
for the Ashtons are a proud family ; but the Hon. R. 
S. Ashton, of whom so much has been said, who is 
so widely known and so highly respected, is my awn 
brother’s son ; though I will do him the justice to say 
that he does not know of the relationship. 

“ When I was fifteen years of age, Henry Nor- 
croft, — here you start again, for the Norcrofts stand 
as high in Vermont as do the Ashtons in this State, — 


CRAZY JANETS STORY. 


131 


I was fifteen, as I have said, when I first saw Henry 
Norcroft. He was twenty, and my very beau ideal of 
manly beauty ; and, as he boarded with us while pre- 
paring for -college, we were, as a matter of course, 
throwm much into each other’s company. 

“ I do not think that Henry meant to be a villain : I 
know that he did not. But led on, step by step, by an 
attraction that neither seemed able to resist, little tlii lik- 
ing where we were drifting, we floated with the tide, till, 
alas ! it was too late, too late, to return. 

“ He loved me, and would have married me ; but his 
parents would not consent: they would disown him if 
he did. They were ambitious for him, and his pros- 
pects should not be blighted for the sake of such as I, 
if they could prevent it. He was not strong enough to 
contend against their opposition, and so I was left to per- 
ish: yes, it would have been far better to have per- 
ished by my own hand than to live as I have. 

“ My parents, when their pride was touched, seemed 
to have lost all their love for me ; and their only thought, 
judging from their acts, was how they could dispose of 
me without disgracing themselves. The public, as yet, 
had not been made aware of my condition. True, a 
few suspected it, but dared not speak of their suspicions ; 
but there was one, a man twice my age, and one from 
whose keen eye nothing that he attempted to fathom 
could be hidden. 

“ This man professed to feel a very great interest in 
Henry, gained his confidence, and won our secret from 
him, just as we were puzzling our brains over the 
matter, not knowing what to do. He then informed 
Henry’s parents, and they sent for him to come home. 


132 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


Henry vowed that he would not leave me, and then his 
father came for him. Then my parents learned the 
terrible truth ; and my father, in the first paroxysm of 
his rage, ordered me from the house. Just here Mr. 
Morgan stepped in to accomplish his ends. He knew, 
that, under any other circumstances, it would have been 
useless, and worse than useless, to speak of making me 
his wife. 

“ But my father was rich, and would do any thing to 
keep disgrace from his name ; so this man Morgan told 
him that he had loved me from the first hour he saw 
me, but, feeling that I could never be his, had buried 
his feelings in his own bosom. ‘ But now,’ said he, 
‘ if you will give her the portion designed for her, so 
that I can have the means to make her comfortable, — I 
am poor, through the villainy of others, — if you will 
do this, I will marry her, and take her out of the 
State.’ 

“ Of course, my father consented. I loathed the man, 
and felt that I would as soon die as to marry him. 
But I could not die, though I prayed for it ; and the 
only alternative was, Morgan or open disgrace and the 
street. O Miss Harlow ! could I have had but one 
example before me of one who had bra ved disgrace, and 
won respect at last, — could I have known that such a 
thing was possible, — I would have dared all. 

“ But I did not even dream that it could be ; for I 
found in the first book that I ever read, these lines : — 

“‘Man tarnishes his character, and brightens it 
again ; but if woman chance to swerve from the 
strictest rules of virtue, — 


CRAZY JANE'S STORY. 


133 


‘ Ruin ensues, reproach and endless shame ; 

One false step for ever blasts her fame. 

In vain the loss she may deplore, 

In vain look back to what she was before : 

She sets like stars that fall to rise no more ; * 

and every thing that I saw and heard confirmed the 
dreadful sentence. 

“ So, like a martyr to the stake, I went to — I will 
not call it my marriage, for it was not : it was a living 
sacrifice upon the altar of respectability. We went out 
of the State, as liad been stipulated ; and my parents hid 
their aching hearts under the semblance of smiles, as 
they talked of ‘ Jane’s marriage with Mr. Morgan, a 
rich bachelor from Massachusetts, and the trial of having 
her go so far away from home.’ 

“ They visited me once or twice a year for a while : 
not so much because they wished to see me, as for the 
sake of keeping up appearances ; and, after my baby 
died, I went home once. I did not wish to go ; but Mr. 
Morgan insisted, and I had to yield. 

“ He could act the gentleman if he chose ; was not 
bad looking, and was very attentive : and, as my old 
friends gathered around to welcome me, they little 
dreamed of the terrible secret that was hidden in my 
bosom. But what mattered it that my heart was break- 
ing, that my life was an earthly hell, so that the family 
credit was saved ! 

“ Oh ! could I have known that my baby would not 
live, I would have defied them all. I wept passionately 
when he was taken from me, for he was Henry’s child ; 
but Mr. Morgan was glad of it, and he told me so. 
‘ He shouldn’t have to bring up other people’s brats 
now,’ he said. 


134 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ He was for ever telling me of his love, and especial 
kindness in marrying me ‘ under the circumstances ; ’ 
exacting a great deal of gratitude for so doing. When 
I had lived with him about two years, another child was 
born to me ; but, from the first moment that I knew 
that I must become a mother again, I felt an intense 
desire to destroy it. I nearly killed myself two or 
three times in my efforts to do so, but failed. 

“ When I came to look upon the little helpless form, 
however, my feelings changed to tender pity, which, as 
he grew older, ripened into love. His little cunning 
ways, — how sweet they were ! But I had sown, and I 
must reap. As he grew older, he manifested an intense 
desire to kill whatever was in his power. It seemed 
the same feeling that I had had toward him before he 
was born ; and oh, how it grieved me ! 

“ No one had ever told me that such effects could fol- 
low from the cause I have named : but I felt that it 
must be so ; and when I found a dog, a cat, or a pig 
dead, killed by my little Johnny, I used to feel that it 
was I, instead of he, that had done the deed. 

“ I tried, in every way that I could possibly think of, 
to educate him out of this trait of character ; and the 
harder I tried to benefit him, the more I loved him. I 
had nothing else to love, and I made this one love idol- 
atry. How I wept and pleaded and prayed with him ! 
He loved me, poor child, but he could not help it. He 
would lie to me : this trait he inherited from his father. 

“I never loved Mr. Morgan; but, after I married 
him, I tried to love him, — tried to be a good wife ; 
used to believe what he told me, until I was forced to 
see that he was really untruthful. But it takes a great 


CRAZY JANETS STORY. 


135 


deal of evidence to make one believe what they do not 
wish to be true ; and it was not till the winter before 
Johnny was born, that I became fully satisfied that I 
could believe only what I knew to be true,, when the 
man who called me ‘ wife ’ told me any thing. And the 
trait which annoyed me so much in the father seemed 
a part of the very nature of my child.” 

Helen had listened attentively to this point, without 
interrupting the narrative ; but here the facts related 
struck her so forcibly that she began to question. 

“ What reason have you, Mrs. Morgan, for thinking 
this to be the cause of your son’s doing as he did ? ” 
she asked. 

“ Because it is Nature’s law that like should produce 
like. But please don’t call me Mrs. Morgan : any name 
but that,” was the quiet reply. 

“But this is not the reason given by our religious 
teachers. They tell us that such manifestations of 
wickedness are the result of human depravity.” 

“ Yes, Miss Harlow ; but whence comes the deprav- 
ity? Not from the inmost soul, which is God’s work; 
for then it would not be human, but divine, depravity. 
No : it comes from the body, the brain, — the channels 
through which the soul acts. The depravity comes 
from the human part of us, and, consequently, is essen- 
tially human.” 

“ Why, mother ! ” said Helen, surprised at the depth 
of thought manifested in the old lady’s words ; “ you 
beat the preachers in explaining these things.” 

“ Perhaps, if they had passed through the furnace 
that I have, they would know better than to talk as 
thev now do, — some of them, at least,” was the prompt 
response. 


136 


HELEN HALLOW ’8 VOW. 


“ But to my story. Mr. Morgan had wasted, in gam- 
bling and drinking, all that my father had given him 
for marrying me ; and, as he had no hopes of getting 
any thing more in that direction, he left me to seek an- 
other wife and another fortune. I was glad of this, 
and all the more so when I learned that he had a wife 
and three children near Albany, N.Y. So you see 
that I was not his wife, after all. But that made no 
difference, you know, for I was ruined anyhow ; and his 
love of money saved the family reputation, as people 
thought I was his wife. 

I was only too glad to be left alone ; for I could 
work for my boy, and I fancied that I could cure him 
of his bad habits if I had him all to myself. So, with 
better courage than I had felt for years, I laid my plans 
for taking care of myself and Johnny. I gathered 
together what little I had, sold what I did not need, 
and bought what I could with the avails, toward mak- 
ing things easy for me in the profession I had chosen, 
— that of washerwoman. 

“ Not a very genteel employment ; but what had I 
to do with gentility ? My only object of care was my 
boy. I chose this kind of work, also, because I could 
keep him with me more, could teach him to assist me, 
and thus obtain an influence over him, which I could 
not otherwise do. I kept him away from school ; 
teaching him myself, and taking pride in seeing him 
keep in advance of those who went to school all of the 
time. 

“ In a word, I made him my inseparable companion ; 
week-days and Sundays we were always together. He 
was quick to learn, recited longer lessons from the 


CRAZY JANE’S STORY. 


137 


Bible than any scholar who went to the sabbath 
school ; and I felt amply rewarded for all my care 
wheiQ I heard him spoken of as the smartest boy in the 
place. When he was twelve years old, there was an 
extensive revival in the village, and he was numbered 
with the converts. Now, indeed, I was happy. Sure- 
ly, the grace of God was sufficient to keep him from 
evil ! 

“ His habit of untruthfulness seemed for a while 
broken ; and I am certain he meant to be good. But, 
alas ! natural tendencies were strong ; and, before two 
years had passed, I found him as untruthful as ever. 
Still, even here he manifested a wonderful care as to 
results : the same trait that his father exhibited so 
successfully whenever he chose, — that of keeping his 
real disposition hidden from those whose respect he 
desired to win ; and but few, except his unhappy 
mother, suspected his real character. 

“ When he was sixteen, there was another remark- 
able revival of religion in the place ; and my John was 
again brought under an influence which held him for 
more than two years. If ever one tried to live a 
Christian, I am certain that he did. I could see, that, 
at times, the old feelings were struggling for the mas- 
tery ; but when I saw him conquer once, again, and 
yet again, I felt strong in the hope that he would 
eventually come off* victor over all. I had fiiith to 
believe it. I asked God, in the strength of that faith, 
to make the thing hoped for a certainty ; but, when I 
felt the most certain that all was well, the barriers 
gave way, and the long-pent-up tendency broke forth 
•with renewed violence, 


138 


HELEN HARLOW^S VOW. 


“ And not only this, — not only the tendency to 
lying and cruelty, — but still another : that of theft. I 
thought I must die, my agony was so great. ‘ My son,’ 
I exclaimed one day, after a more flagrant manifestation 
than usual, — ‘ my son, what makes you do so ?’ 

“ ‘ I don’t know, mother,’ he replied ; and, throwing 
his arms around me, he wept as if his heart would 
break. Again there was an attempt at reformation, 
and again I began to hope. Things went on in this 
manner for a while longer : but my parents, in all these 
years, knew nothing of my place of residence ; for Mr. 
Morgan, just before he forsook me, moved us into an 
entirely new neighborhood, and I had maintained a 
strict silence as to my whereabouts. 

‘‘ But I must hasten with my story, or I shall not 
have the strength to finish.” There was such a look 
of suffering upon the old lady’s face as she said this, 
that Helen begged her not to go on ; but she only 
shook her head. Resting her head in her hands for a 
few moments, as if to gather strength for the final 
eflbrt, she resumed her story with, — 

“ The climax came at last. Johnny had been away 
from me more than usual for several weeks, till within 
a few days ; but, during those few days, he had been 
unusually kind and attentive. That morning, — I shall 
never forget it, — - he had been reading a very amusing 
story to me, and we were both laughing heartily over 
it, when there was a rap at the door. He turned pale, 
so pale that I noticed it, and wondered what it meant : 
but he arose quietly, and opened the door ; and, before 
those standing there had time to speak, he said, ‘ Yes, 
gentlemen, I am ready,’ taking his hat at the same 


CRAZY JANE’S S TOR Y. 


139 


moment, and, turning to me, ‘ Mother, good-by ; ’ and 
then walked away with those that I knew to be officers 
of justice. 

“ One of them made a move as if to confine him ; 
but he said in a tone not intended for my ear, ‘ Not 
before my mother.’ But I can not dwell upon the 
events of that awful time, further than to say that there 
had been a murder committed, and some of the money 
known to have belonged tp the murdered man had 
been paid out by my unhappy boy. I learned where 
the corpse was ; for it was only on the night before, and 
in the early evening, that the deed had been done. 
By some irresistible fascination, I was drawn to the 
place, and insisted upon seeing the face of the dead. 
They tried to keep me away, but it was of no use. 
But they little dreamed of the cause of the shriek that 
burst from my lips when my request was granted : 
they little thought that the man lying there had once 
called me wife, that his murderer was his own son. 

“ Yes : it was even so, though none knew it but my- 
self. He had assumed another name, and was adver- 
tised in the papers as William Wilson, with the request 
that his relatives would come forward and claim his 
effects ; but no one ever came. Had they advertised 
him as Joshua Morgan, the result might have been 
different. I don’t know, though, for I am not certain 
that that was his true name. 

“ I retained my self-possession through the whole ; 
talked with my poor boy of the deed, and, with his 
head lying on my bosom, he told me all. From the 
first moment that he saw the murdered man, he said 
that he had felt a desire to take his life ; that the feel- 


140 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


ing had grown stronger each time they met, until it 
seemed utterly impossible for him to do otherwise than 
he had done. ‘ I didn’t want his money, mother ; I 
felt no disposition to steal from him : and still I took 
it, — what little he had, — and then went and paid it 
out, a portion of it before I went home ; changed a five- 
dollar-bill to pay for the nice steak that we had for our 
breakfast the next morning.’ 

“ My God ! what agony^I suffered ! How plainly I 
saw it all, — the causes that had led to this terrible 
result ! They seemed traced upon my brain with a 
pen of fire, — the hatred I had felt for this man, and 
toward the child that must bear his name, the hun- 
ger, the longing I had experienced for just such food, 
and the frenzy of passion into which I had fallen 
when he refused to get it for me, and, at the same 
time, had held his money before my eyes, to show me 
that it was not because he could not, but because he 
would not purchase what I so much desired. I was so 
enraged, that, if I had had the power, I could have 
killed him as easily as if he had been a snake instead 
of a human being. 

“ My unborn babe had been the recipient of that 
feeling. The man had really been his own murderer ; 
for it was the very feeling he aroused in me which 
nerved the hand that struck the blow. And, stranger 
still, the very food in kind that he denied me then 
was purchased by the money taken from his pocket by 
the hand that murdered him ; even as I would have 
murdered him then, while the frenzy of rage was 
upon me. 

“ I said that the man really murdered himself. In 


CRAZY JANETS STORY. 


141 


one sense, this was true ; and, in another, it was I that 
did the deed by the hand of my child. My poor boy ! 
he was the least guilty of the three, though human 
law, human shortsightedness, piled the whole blame 
upon his defenseless head; while the papers, far and 
near, reiterated the story of his depravity. 

“ I did not tell my poor boy what I have told you. 
I wish I had ; for it might have been some consolation 
to him to have known that his mother acquitted him of 
blame. But I stood by him just as long as they would 
let me, — was calm, outwardly, and loving to him 
through all : but yvhen the final tragedy was over, the 
legal murder done, then my mind gave way ; and from 
that time to this, my life seems like one long, troubled 
dream. 

‘‘And now you have my story. Miss Harlow. I 
have told it, as I said, to strengthen you in the path 
you have chosen. Better — oh, how much better ! — it 
would have been to have accepted public disgrace than 
to do as I did. To escape the consequences of a weak- 
ness, a folly, I plunged into crime : to escape the 
name of being vile, I made myself, or permitted others 
to make me, vile indeed ; for what greater pollution is 
there for woman than to take vows upon her lips from 
which her heart rebels ? to bear children to a man that 
she hates ? 

“ My story is done, and so will soon be my troubled 
life ; for this period of perfect saneness is the lamp sent 
by pitying Heaven to light me from this dark earth. 
But I am weary, and would sleep.” 

With tearful eyes, Helen prepared a couch for the 
aged limbs, and then sat, wrapped in thought, till long 


142 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


after the midnight hour. Poor old Jane was sleeping 
quietly when she retired ; but the next morning, when 
they went to awaken her, they found only the worn-out 
body from which the spirit had fled. 

Helen wept not more freely over her own mother 
than she did over the remains of this lonely woman ; 
but now they were tears of joy instead of bitterness, 
— joy that the tried spirit was at length free ; and joy 
that she had been true to herself, had not married 
simply from a feeling of respect.^ and thus sacrificed her 
self-respect. 

It was soon rumored through town that “ Crazy 
Jane” was dead, had died at Helen Harlow’s; and, 
before noon, the town officers came to see about making 
arrangements for a pauper’s funeral. But Helen 
quietly put them aside, and proceeded to make the 
preparations necessary to a respectable burial. 

“ If you do this, Miss Harlow, you must do it on 
your own responsibility: the town will pay no unne- 
cessary expense,” said they. 

“ I will take the responsibility,” she replied ; and so 
they left her to herself. She furnished coffin and 
shroud, — the same as was furnished for her mother ; 
sent for the Rev. Mr. Gordon of Glencove to preach 
the funeral- sermon, and had her buried by her mother’s 
side. 

“ A great deal of respect Helen Harlow shows her 
mother’s memory, — burying that old creature beside 
her ! ” said Mrs. Grant to her next neighbor. And 
others commented upon the fact as a piece of needless 
folly ; some going so far as to say that there must be 
some cause for Helen’s course in this matter, further 


CRAZY JANE'S STORY. 


143 


than appeared upon the surface: and, for a while, it 
was confidently believed that “ Crazy Jane ” was really 
her grandmother. 

Helen smiled when she heard this, and said that it 
made but little difference what people thought. This 
only made their tongues run the faster for a time ; but 
soon, like other nine-days’ wonders, the matter ceased 
to be talked of, and things settled back in their old 
channel. 

In spite of Mother Grundy alias Mrs. Grant and 
her clique, — which, by the way, was not, in this case, 
a very large one, — Helen’s shop continued to be the 
resort of the ladies of Lakeside ; and Helen continued to 
furnish them with what they needed in her line, and to 
educate her boy, instead of sending him to the public 
school, as people thought she ought to do. And when 
a marble slab arose over poor Jane’s grave, precisely 
like the one at Mrs. Harlow’s, with the simple inscrip- 
tion, “ He giveth his beloved sleep,” people had so far 
learned that Helen Harlow had her own way of doing 
things, that there was but little said about it. 



144 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE WISDOM OF THE WISE. 

“If the blind lead the blind, they shall both fall into the ditch.”— BrBUS. 

OME six weeks after Jane Morgan’s 
funeral, Helen received a visit from Mr. 
Gordon and his good wife. This did not 
surprise her, for they had been in the 
habit of calling occasionally ever since 
death. 

But there was a look upon the reverend gentleman’s 
face that puzzled her somewhat, as he was so much 
more staid and sober than usual. 

“ Miss Harlow,” said he at length, “ I feel that I 
have not done my duty as I ought ; and I owe it to you, 
as well as to myself, to confess my remissness.” 

Helen looked up in surprise. “ I can not imagine 
what you mean, sir,” she said : “ you have always been 
a true friend to me, and I have often felt that I hardly 
knew how to be grateful enough for your kindness.” 

“ And is there no point, my child, upon which you 
have sometimes thought that I was remiss ? ” he asked. 

“ Not any, sir.” 

“ Have I ever spoken to you about the welfare of 
your soul.” 



THE WISDOM OF THE WISE. 


145 


“ I believe that you have not ; that is, not directly : 
but your life — the course that you have pursued — has 
spoken for you, — has done more to make me feel that 
all did not put belief before life, profession before prac- 
tice ; has done more to make me feel this than any 
amount of preaching could have done. Why, sir, I 
honestly think that I should have lost faith in human- 
ity, should have become a perfect misanthrope, had 
it not been for Mrs. Gordon, Mr. Reid, and yourself.” 

“ I am glad. Miss Harlow, that my life has had its 
influence upon you ; but, as a Christian minister, I feel 
that I should have been more personal in this matter, 
should have pressed upon your notice the importance 
of becoming a true follower of Christ; and I wonder that 
you have never thought upon it in this light.” 

“ Why, sir, I realized that the matter of my soul’s 
interest lay between me and my God, and supposed 
that you felt the same ; that is, I should have supposed 
so, if I had thought at all of your duty in this direc- 
tion.” 

Mr. Gordon made no reply for some moments, but 
looked at his wife with an expression of countenance 
that seemed to say, “ A new feature in the case : the 
same independent originality here as elsewhere.” 

Finally he asked, “ Do you think you are a Chris- 
tian, Helen ? ” 

“ What do you mean by being a Christian ? ” 

“ Have you experienced that change of heart which 
is necessary to becoming a child of God ? ” 

“ I can not say that I have, Mr. Gordon.” 

“ And do you not know, that, without such a change, 
there is no hope of happiness beyond the grave ? ’ 

10 


146 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ I am no theologian, Mr. Gordon ; but, with your 
permission, I would like to ask you a few questions.” 

“ Certainly, certainly.” 

“ Have I a right to find fault with that which God 
does not find fault with ? ” 

“ Most assuredly not.” 

“Is it more difficult to please God than it is an 
earthly parent ? ” 

“ I dare not assert that it is.” 

“ Are you not satisfied with your child, if you know 
that it is doing the very best it knows how ? ” 

“I should be an unkind parent if I were not.” 

“ Resting, then, upon these self-evident propositions, 
Mr. Gordon, I have no right to be troubled about the 
future.” 

“ What do you mean. Miss Harlow ? ” 

“ I mean to say, that I am doing as well as I know 
how ; that I never knowingly commit a wrong act : 
consequently, God is satisfied with me, and, being so, 
will take care of me.” 

“ Trusting in your own righteousness, my poor 
child.” 

“No: in God’s righteousness, — in the certainty that 
he will do just right; that he will not be angry with 
me for not doing better than I know how.” 

“ Alas, alas ! it is as I feared : blinded by your own 
false reasoning, you will not accept the true Saviour, 
because you do not see the need of him.” 

“ Mr. Gordon, I confess I do not understand the the- 
ology of the churches : do you ? ” 

“ Do I ? ” 

“ Yes : do you understand what you teach, any fur- 


THE WISDOM OF THE WISE. 


147 


ther than doing justly, dealing rightly with your fellow- 
creatures is concerned? ” 

“ I must confess, with Paul, that ‘ great is the mys- 
tery of godliness.’ ” 

“ How, then, can you, how could he, teach others 
that which was a mystery ? ” 

“ How can we teach a mystery ? ” 

“ Yes : how can you teach a mystery, Mr. Gordon ? 
If you understand a thing, it is no longer a mystery ; 
and, if you do not understand it, how can you teach 
it ? ” 

“We can understand the commandments. Miss Har- 
low : ‘ Thou shalt not kill ; thou shalt not steal,’ &c.” 

“ Yes : but what has that to do with ‘ God manifest 
in the flesh,’ ‘ being born again,’ &c. ? ” 

“ Simply this : if we violate these laws, we must suf- 
fer the penalty, unless we accept the Saviour pro- 
vided.” 

“ But you have acknowledged, Mr. Gordon, that 
these things are a mystery ; that you yourself do 
not understand them : for, if you did, they would no 
longer be a mystery to you, if they were to Paul. 
Now, what I wish to know is this : how can we accept 
a mystery, and be sure that we are not deceived ? 
that it is just what it claims to be ? ” 

“ You are asking hard questions, Helen.” 

“ You gave me permission to ask questions, sir.” 

“ I did ; and I presume they will do me good. There 
are none of us who think any too deeply.” 

Mrs. Gordon had thus far been simply a listener ; 
but now she said, “ I was fearful, husband, when you 
told me that you intended to talk with Miss Harlow 


148 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


upon these subjects, that you would get into deep 
water.” 

“ Well, wife, there is no harm done : it does one 
good to get into deep, water occasionally.” 

“ That is, if they do not go so deep but that they 
can get out again, I presume you mean,” was her 
playful reply. 

“ But I have more questions to ask, Mr. Gordon,” 
said Helen. 

“ Well, go on : it can do no harm to ask them, even 
if I can not answer them satisfactorily.” 

“ What is meant by ‘ visiting the iniquities of the 
fathers upon the children, to the third and fourth gen- 
eration ’ ? ” 

“ That law is done away with : the prophet emphati- 
cally says that the proverb, ‘ The fathers have eaten 
sour grapes,’ should no more be used ; but that every 
soul should bear its own sin.” 

“ Does God change ? ” 

“Not really; but he may in his manner of dealing 
with us.” 

“ Where is the difference, so far as we are concerned, 
whether the change is an absolute or a relative one. 
If he changes in his manner of dealing with us, he is 
to us a changeable God ; and it matters not what he 
may be otherwise.” 

“ How, then, do you reconcile the above ? ” 

“ I do not try to reconcile it. I am not a teacher of 
theology, but I will tell you what I am doing, sir.” 

“ Ah ! and what are you doing ? ” 

“ I am thinking, questioning.” 

“ Be careful, my child, that your questioning does 
not lead you astray.” 


THE WISDOM OF THE ^VISE. 


149 


“ It is my opinion that a lack of thought would be 
more apt to have that tendency ; but it is true, sir, 
that I have thought more deeply since listening to the 
story of poor Jane Morgan, than I ever did before ; at 
least in some directions.” 

“ Indeed ! and what was there in her history to af- 
fect you so deeply ? ” 

“ I will tell you.” Helen then proceeded to give 
Mr. Gordon and his wife the main incidents in the 
life of that unfortunate creature, dwelling more partic- 
ularly upon what related to her boy, and her explana- 
tion of the causes which she believed had made him 
what he was. 

The story awakened a new train of thought in the 
minds of both Mr. Gordon and his wife ; and they were 
silent for some minutes after Helen had finished her 
recital. Mrs. Gordon was the first to speak. “ I am 
not prepared to accept the conclusions that such a 
theory would lead to,” she said ; “ but I feel that there 
is a truth there somewhere. I can trace in my own 
children the influences that were brought to bear upon 
me before their birth ; though I had never thought 
upon the fact in the light that you present it. Miss 
Harlow.” 

“ I do not wish to present these things in any par- 
ticular light ; for I do not see them clearly, — can not 
understand, as yet, their real bearing. I only tell 
them as they were told to me ; and I, too, must say that 
my observation tends to confirm her conclusions. It 
seems to me, however, that it is in this manner that 
God visits the iniquities of the fathers, and of the 
mothers too, upon the children, to the third and fourth 
generation.” 


150 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ You mean,” said Mr. Gordon, “ that it will take 
three or four generations to educate out of children 
the evil tendencies born with them in consequence of 
the sins of parents ? ” 

“ Something like that,” was the reply. 

“ It looks as if there was a truth here,” said he, 
after another silence ; “ but, if so, I shall have to re-ad- 
just my theology to find a place for it.” 

“ Suppose, Mr. Gordon,” said Helen, “ that we con- 
tinue to adjust our lives to the practical in religion, so 
that we shall need no re-adjustment there ; suppose 
we continue to do this, and leave the theoretical, the 
theological, the mysterious, till deeper thought and 
fuller experiences enable us to decide more intelli- 
gently.” 

“ A very wise proposition ; and I, for one, shall be 
glad to accede to it,” said Mrs. Gordon ; “ but, as 
husband’s business is teaching, I don’t know what he 
will think of it.’’ 

“ Don’t laugh at me, wife : I hope I am a learner as 
well as a teacher ; for I am certain there is need enough 
of it.” 

“ You have at least satisfied your conscience in 
respect to me,” said Helen. 

Satisfied my conscience ? ” 

“ Yes : was it not conscience, a sense of your duty 
as a minister, that prompted you to speak to me of my 
soul?” 

“ I believe it was. Miss Harlow ; but I confess the 
task to have been a great one for me : so, remember, 
you must look out for your own welfare on that point 
after this.” 


THE WISDOM OF THE WISE: 


151 


“•I will remember,” she said ; “ and shall talk with 
you again upon these points some time.” 

“ I hope you will give me plenty of time to think 
first,” he replied. 

“ As much as you please, so that you really think*'* 






152 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW, 


CHAPTER XI. 

FOR THE LAST TIME. 

“ Yet once again I ask, Wilt thou be mine ?” 

HINGS moved on in their usual channel 
at Lakeside. Charles, or Charlie as he 
was always called, was ten years of age, 
and as fine, active a boy as was to be 
found in all the country round. Helen 
had never sent him to school ; but he was far in 
advance, in his studies, of any boy of his age. People 
had accepted it as a settled fact, that Helen Harlow 
was competent to take care of herself, and that she 
would have her own way; consequently, they had 
ceased to dictate, or even to hope to change her pur- 
poses. 

All but one ; and he could hardly be said to hope, only 
as against hope. William Reid made one more effort 
to induce her to become his wife. He had been absent 
for several months ; and, when she had the least thought 
of seeing him, she looked up, and he was standing 
before her. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Reid. I was not thinking of 
seeing you to-day. I did not suppose you had re- 
turned.” 

“ And do you ever think of me, Helen ? ” he asked. 



FOR THE LAST TIME. 


153 


“ Most certainly I do. I should be very ungrateful 
to forget so good a friend as you.” 

“ Gratitude ! I had as soon you would forget me 
entirely.” 

“ That I could not do^if I should try ; and I have 
no disposition to try, even if that would effect such a 
result.” 

“ O Helen ! you are heartless ! ” 

“ Perhaps I am ; but, if so, am worthless to any one 
but myself.” 

You are the proudest woman I ever saw.” 

“ I believe you have told me that before, Mr. Reid.” 

“ Mr. Reid ! I wish you would never ‘ mister ’ me 
again.” 

“ I should miss you very much, theri ; for, in that 
case, you would be obliged to go where I could not -see 
you.” 

“ I doubt very much if you would miss me, even 
should you never see me again.” 

“ Are you sick this morning, sir ? ” 

“ Yes, heartsick.” 

“ Then you are not heartless, as you say I am ; 
otherwise you could not be heartsick.” 

“ O Helen, Helen ! you will drive me wild.” 

“ What ails you, Mr. Reid ? I never saw you mani- 
fest such a spirit.” 

“ And you will never see me manifest such a spirit 
again. Miss Harlow.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so.” 

“ Of course, you are ; and will be more so when you 
hear the why, I suppose.” 

“ As to that, I can tell better when I hear it.” 


154 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


Reid sat for some time in silence. ‘‘ Helen,” said lie 
at length, “ I have been rude this morning, have been 
cross, and I know it ; but I have come, for the last, 
time, to ask you a question to which I felt so certain 
you would say ‘ No ’ that it angered me.” 

“ Why ask it, then ? ” 

“ Because I must, I will : I shall ask it for this only 
time, remember ; so take time to think before you reply. 
Helen, will you be my wife ? ” 

“ And this is the last time you will ask this question, 
Mr. Reid ? ” ' 

“The very last time, Miss Harlow.” 

“ I am glad to hear it.” 

“ I expected you would be ; but you have not 
answered me yet.” 

“ I am glad to hear it,” she continued, without 
noticing his last remark, “ for two reasons : first, be- 
cause it will save me the further pain of saying ‘ No ’ to 
one I respect too highly to willingly give him pain ; and 
the other reason is, you would not be so positive that 
it is the last time, if your mind had not begun to turn 
toward some one else.” 

“ But you have not said ‘ No ’ yet.” 

“ Have I not told you, Mr. Reid, that I did not love 
you?” 

“ You have ; but you said further, that you would 
not marry me if you did love me.” 

“ And what did you infer from that ? ” 

“ Why, that you did love me a little, after all ; and, 
being conscious of the fact, added that to make the 
‘ No ’ seem strong, when it was not really so.” 

“ O man ! thy name is vanity,” said Helen, smiling. 


FOR THE LAST TIME. 


155 


“Why add that last clause, then ? ” 

“ To show you how utterly impossible it was for me 
to grant your request. I said, in effect, I would not 
marry you under the circumstances, even if I loved 
you ; but, as I do not love you, there can be no possi- 
ble ground for you to hope.” 

“ And you still say the same ? ” 

“ I still say the same.” 

“Well, you are Godlike in one respect, if in no 
other.” 

“ How is that ? ” 

“ There is no variableness nor shadow of turning 
about you. If the truth were known, I believe you 
love that ” — 

“ Mr. Reid ! ” 

“ I know that I am a wretch, Helen, to refer to such 
a thing ; but it makes me angry to see so much love 
and devotion thrown away.” 

“ You were just in accusing me of being heartless.” 

“ Well, I knew better than that. I am not myself 
this morning. But what makes you think that my 
mind is turning toward some one else, Helen ? ” 

“ Because you never loved me.” 

“ Helen ! ” 

“ It is true, sir, and you will find it out yet. You 
thought you did, and hate to acknowledge, even to 
yourself, that you have been mistaken ; and that is 
what has made you so irritable, so unreasonable, this 
morningi” 

Reid looked at her in astonishment. “ Helen,” said 
he, “ thfe is no woman on earth that I esteem as I do 
you.” I 


156 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


“ And there is no one among all my acquaintance 
that I esteem more highly than I do you ; but it is not 
of esteem that we are talking.” 

“ Did I say esteem ? ” 

“ You did, sir ; and it is the right word. You shake 
your head ; but you will find that I am telling you the 
truth.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ You would not say ‘ perhaps’ if you did not feel 
‘ perhaps.’ I tell you, William Reid, had I said ‘ Yes ’ 
to your request, you would have been disappointed, 
and not so happy as you imagine.” 

“ I can not think you are right, Helen, for I know 
of no woman that I would as soon call ‘ wife ’ as you ; 
but, since there has been so much said, I will own that 
there is one lady that I may try to win, as you give me 
no hope.” 

“But you will continue to esteem me as highly as 
ever ? ” asked Helen with a look of mock distress. 

Reid looked annoyed. “ Helen, you are too bad.” 

“ Am I ? What do you wish me to do ? cry about 
it?” 

He laughed in spite of himself. “ It would do you 
no good if you did : it is too late to cry now.” 

“ But not too late to attend your wedding ; that is, 
if you esteem me enough to invite me.” 

“ No, Helen, I shall never invite you to my wed- 
ding ; ” and there was a sadness in his tones which made 
her tremble for the happiness of the one he should 
marry. 

“ Well, be that as it may,” she replied ; “ but be true 
to yourself, whatever you do.” 


FOR THE LAST TIME. 


157 


“ Not with your idea of being true ; for tlien I should 
spend the remainder of my days alone. But I shall 
only annoy you by further remark, and so farewell ; ” 
and he was gone. 

Gone, leaving Helen sadder than she had ever yet 
been at his departure. Not that she regretted her 
decision, or was sorry that the conflict between them 
was over. No, not that ; but the cross-purposes of life 
troubled her. Why was it ? Why should the carry- 
ing out of one’s purposes, one’s highest convictions of 
right, conflict with the dearest hopes of another ? 

Beside, there was a something in Reid’s manner, as 
he left her, which made her feel that perhaps she had 
been unjust to him ; that possibly he had not been as 
much mistaken in his feelings toward her as she had 
tried to make him and herself believe. If so, would 
he ever be happy again ? If not, he certainly could 
not make another happy ; and thus two lives would be 
spoiled instead of one. 

Perhaps her idea of but one true love was false, after 
all. She hoped that it was ; for then there would be 
hope that Reid could be happy with another. This 
thought threw her back into herself. Admitting this, 
could she not have been happy with another than the 
one who had so cruelly deceived her? Was she not 
sacrificing herself, and another also, to a false idea, a 
chimera of the brain, a utopian resolution ? Was she 
not ministering to a morbid pride in thus boldly wear- 
ing the mantle of disgrace, when she might so easily 
cast it off? 

Never in all these years had she been so shaken as 
now ; and it was not until she thought of the words of 


158 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


poor old Jane, that she could recover her equanimity. 
“ Oh ! if I could have had an example like yours before 
me, I would have dared all.” 

The remembrance of these words turned her mind 
from self, toward the multitudes who are thus con- 
stantly being crushed by that state of public sentiment 
which takes sides with the strong against the weak, 
with the wrong-doer against the wronged. 

“ Yes,” said she, “ I see it now : here is my work ; 
and, if I faint under the cross, I shall show myself too 
weak to bear the weight of glory which clusters around 
the crown.” And thus content came again to her 
tried spirit, and she went cheerfully onward in her 
chosen path. 

A few months afterward, when she heard of Reid’s 
marriage with a young and lovely woman every way 
worthy to be his wife, she rejoiced that it was so, and 
sent forth her prayers for their happiness, unmingled 
with a single regret ; and so peacefully did her life 
glide onward, she forgot, at times, that it had ever been 
otherwise. 

Still, she was ever busy, — ever striving to gather 
knowledge for herself and boy ; knowing that the sun- 
shine could not last always and that it 

Was not given for sleeping.” 



(d 


ANOTHER STORY. 


159 


CHAPTER Xn. 

ANOTHER STORY. 


“ Another unfortunate gone to her death.” 



AKE her into Helen Harlow’s. It is 
the fittest place for her.” 

Helen knew that voice, though she had 
not heard it for years, — the voice of 
the woman who called her boy’s father 
husband. She looked out, and saw that a woman had 
fainted but a few feet from her door, — a woman who 
was still young, had been beautiful, but was now an 
outcast, — one of the pariahs of our Christian land. 
Near her stood Mrs. Grant, Mrs. Granger, and Mrs. 
Fitzhammer, impeded in their progress by this woman 
lying directly in their path. 

Helen’s was tlie nearest place to which she could be 
removed ; and these three women were urmno; those 
wlio were gathering around to carry her there. 

“ Yes,” said Helen, “ bring her in ; ” casting her eyes, 
at the same time, upon the trio : “ but don’t let her 
touch tlieir immaculate garments ; she would proba- 
bly never have been what she is but for some such men 
as their husbands.” 

Mrs. Granger’s eyes flashed fire. “ I presume that 
you know, if any one does,” she retorted. 


160 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ I know of one of them,” Helen replied, with a 
concentration of tone that made her persecutor quail. 
It was the nearest that she had ever come to acknowl- 
edging the parentage of her child. 

Mrs. Granger was white with anger. “ Come,” 
said she to her companions, as soon as she could speak 
for rage, — “ come ; let us no longer disgrace ourselves 
by being in the vicinity of such brazen-faced' shame- 
lessness.” 

In the mean time, the poor creature had been carried 
into the house, and placed upon Helen’s comfortable 
lounge, while Helen herself was hastening to bathe the 
brow and temples of the unconscious form. 

She started as the cooling liquid touched her, and 
murmured, “ Mother 1” and then, opening her eyes and 
seeinor-the strano;e face bending above her, groaned 
aloud. Helen motioned for the others to leave. “ I 
will take care of her,” said she ; and those strong men 
went out from the presence of the heroic girl feeling 
more reverence for her than they would have cared 
to express. 

Helen had often heard of this class of women, but 
had never before seen one that she knew to be such ; 
and she felt her heart swelling with pity as she gazed 
upon the mournful-looking eyes and sunken cheeks. 
True, her knowledge of this one’s eondition, or, rather, 
character, was more instinctive than otherwise ; for, 
aside from what she saw and felt, she had had no other 
indication than the scornful tone of Mrs. Granger, 

O' 

when suggesting that the woman should be taken into 
her house as a fitting place. 

But, whatever else she was, she was a woman, — one 


ANOTHER STORY. 


161 


who had loved, suffered, and sunk, instead of riding 
in triumph upon the billows of sorrow ; and Helen, 
as I have said, felt an intense pity as she looked upon 
her. 

Her present condition was the result of the combined 
effects of hunger and disease ; and it was evident that 
her days of earthly suffering were nearly at an end. 
Helen asked no questions, but, with the charity that 
“• relieveth first,” directed her efforts toward making 
the sufferer comfortable. One or two curiosity-seekers 
dropped in to take notes for the mart of gossip; but 
were so quietly dismissed, that they were hardly aware 
of the fact, supposing that they had left of their own 
accord. The stranger submitted to every thing that 
was done, with a half-bewildered air, as though it was 
all a dream, from which she should presently awake ; 
and, after being bathed, and arrayed in clean garments, 
she sank into a sound slumber, from which she did not 
awake till the following morning. 

‘‘ Poor thing I let her sleep,” thought Helen, as she 
gazed upon the emaciated features. 

She awoke, at length, with a start. “ Where am 
I ? ” she asked, springing to a sitting position. 

“ Among friends,” replied Helen. 

“ Friends ! I have none ! ” and then, clasping the 
thin hands, she shrieked, “ O mother, mother ! why 
did you die and leave me ? ” 

“ Hush ! ” said Helen^ going to her, and placing 
her hand upon the throbbing temples. This burst of 
feeling ended in a flood of tears, and then she grew 
calmer. 

“ I dreamed,” said she, “ that my mother was here ; 

11 


162 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


and it seemed so real, that, when I awoke to find that it 
was but a dream, I felt as if I could not bear it.” Then, 
after lying silent a while, she added, “ Oh ! I remember 
now. I fainted in the street, and you brought me in 
here. Yes, I fainted. You are Helen Harlow, are yoii 
not ? ” 

“ I am Helen Harlow.” 

“ Well, then, I will tell you all. I fainted, but not 
so much from weakness, though I was weak, and very 
tired. Still, I should not have fainted, had I not met 
one that I had known in better days, — the sister of the 
man who deceived and forsook me.” 

“ Will you tell me his name ? ” asked Helen. 

“ Yes : I said I would tell you all. It was Herbert 
Ward.” 

“Ella Ward’s brother ! ” She did not say Mrs. 
Granger. 

“ Yes : her name is Granger now, I believe.” Hel- 
en assented by a nod of the head, and the stranger 
continued: “We were poor, but of as good a family 
as the Wards. But I have not told you my name. 
It is Ransom, — Elda Ransom. My father, J udge Ran- 
som, lived in Boston, and had once a comfortable for- 
tune ; but, losing it through the villainy of one he 
trusted, we were reduced to poverty ; and this so af- 
fected him that he sickened and died. I believe that 
men sink under misfortune sooner than women, if thev 
are called the stronger sex.” 

“ But how did you become acquainted with the 
Wards ? ” asked Helen. 

“ They boarded with us, — Herbert and his sister. 
They were attending school in Boston ; and, after 


ANOTHER STORY. 


163 


father’s death, mother took a few boarders in order to 
sustain herself and keep me at school.” 

“ Had you no brothers or sisters ? ” 

“ Not living. Mother had had five children, — 
three sons and one daughter beside myself ; but these 
all died in early childhood : and oh that I had died 
too ! ” And there was another passionate fit of weep- 
ing. - 

Helen waited quietly till it had subsided, and then 
brought her back to the subject by saying, — 

“ Herbert and his sister boarded with you, then ? ” 

“ Yes : for nearly two years we were constant com- 
panions, and they both professed the warmest friend- 
ship. I was beautiful, so they told me, and Herbert 
professed to love me devotedly ; and I more than loved, 
— I worshiped him. 

“ Ella, too, was my friend, till she began to fear 
that Herbert would marry me, and then she used all 
her influence against me. She told him that I did not 
love him, and had confessed as much to a schoolmate ; 
but that I would marry him because he was rich, and 
could give my mother a home. 

“ He came to me with this accusation, driving me 
almost wild with his doubts, or with his pretended 
doubts ; for I now believe them to have been only a 
pretense, for the purpose of bringing me more fully 
into his power. I cried and protested, — fool that I 
-yyas I — and he finally professed to be satisfied. Things 
went on as before, for two or three weeks, when he 
again came to me with what he called evidence of my 
duplicity. 

“ He raved like a madman ; said if he could not 


164 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


trust me he could trust no one ; and that he did not 
care to live. He frightened me : I actually feared that 
he would take his own life. He swore that he would, 
unless he could have proof, that would settle the ques- 
tion beyond a doubt, that I loved him and him only. 

“ ‘ But what can I do more than I have done ? ’ I 
asked. 

“ He walked back and forth through the room for 
ten minutes, perhaps : it seemed an age to me. Fi- 
nally he stopped in front of me. ‘ There is but one 
thing, Elda,’ said he, ‘ that will satisfy me ; and that I 
have no right to ask : and so I must leave you ; ” and 
turned to leave the room. 

“ ‘ Any thing, any thing ! ’ I shrieked, throwing 
myself before him ; ‘ for I can not live without you.’ 

“ ‘ Are you in earnest ? ’ he asked, taking my hands 
in his. 

“ ‘ Certainly I am,’ I replied; for I did not even then 
suspect what he would ask : he had always been so 
respectful, that I did not once imagine such a thing. 

“ He caught me to his breast ; he rained kisses on 
cheeks, lip, neck, and bosom ; and between the bliss 
of having his love again, and the fear of — what, I 
hardly knew, I had no power to resist him. And the 
sequel, so far as he was concerned, needs not to be 
told.” 

She did not look into Helen’s face during this 
recital ; consequently did not see the tears that her 
story had brought to Helen’s eyes.- 

“ Did his sister know aught of this ? ” asked Helen 
at length. 

“ Not at first ; but she found it out by watching. I 


ANOTHER STORY. 


165 


shall never forget the day she came to me, with the 
fatal secret upon her lips. She heaped upon me every 
vile epithet that she could think of ; said that I had 
tempted Herbert on purpose to induce him to marry 
me, but that she would not have the family so dis- 
graced. She even threatened my life if I ever dared 
to mention his name in connection with any thing that 
might occur. 

“ She might have spared herself this, for I was too 
heart-broken to make even an effort to stem the tide 
that was bearing me to utter ruin. Well, to cut the 
story short, my baby diedj my mother died, the world 
cast me off, and what was there for me but sin ? 

“ For a while, so long as my beauty remained, I was 
well dressed and well cared for. But, when this began 
to fade, I commenced going down, down, till here I 
am. The end is at hand, and I am glad of it.” 

“ But how came you here in this country-place ? ” 

“ I came to see you. Miss Harlow. 

“ Me ? ” 

“ Yes, you : with your quiet life here, you do not 
know how .much your courage and perseverance is 
whispered abroad. You little dream how many sor- 
rowing ones are saying, ‘ Oh ! if I had had but one such 
example before me, I, too, would have stemmed the 
tide.’ ” 

“ But all women who have once been deceived do 
not follow a life of shame.” 

“I know that they do not ; but what kind of a life 
do they have ? One of sufferance. They go, the bal- 
ance of their days, wdth drooping head and downcast 
eyes, acknowledging by every movement that they are 


1G6 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


sinners above all others. If they will do this, — if, to 
use a homely but expressive phrase, — if they will eat 
humble-pie the rest of their lives, then Christians will 
receive them as a sort of mendicant upon their charity, 
who may possibly — that is, if they are humble enough 
— find a seat at last in heaven.” • 

“ You paint a strong picture. Miss Ransom.” 

Please don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

“ Don’t call me by that name ; it reminds me^ too 
vividly of happier days. Say Elda, if you will, but not 
Miss.” 

“ I think that you are eating humble-pie now.” 

“ If I am, you do not furnish nor exact it. But is 
my picture too highly colored ? ” 

“ I can not say that it is, Elda.” 

“ Of course, you can not. She must either do this, 
or she must marry some one who is every way beneath 
her, to cover up the disgrace. Just as though a woman 
was made more pure by associating constantly with a 
mean man, because he is her husband ! ” 

“ It seems to me,” said Helen, “ that people have 
strange ideas of purity.” 

“That is what I think ; but you are the only one. 
Miss Harlow, of the thousands that become the victims 
of man’s falsehood, — you are the only one I have ever 
heard of who would not accept the injustice meted out 
to you, who has demanded and received respect; re- 
ceived it upon your own terms too. 

“ Now, this is what we want, what we must have, 
or the most of those who have been thus wrono;ed will 
sink in spite of every thing. The law of sympathy is 


ANOTHER STORY. 


167 


strong, and human nature is proud. To be constantly 
surrounded by those who look down upon us is terrible ; 
and we naturally flee to those who are in a like or a 
worse condition than ourselves, as a sort of protection 
from this crushing sense of humiliation. If they would 
only give us a hope, a possibility, of full reinstatement, 
it would be different. But no : no matter how cruelly 
we have been deceived, no matter how’ aggravated the 
wrongs which have brought about the result, eternal 
disgrace is the verdict.” 

Yes ; and will be, till woman herself repudiates 
that verdict, refuses to accept it either for herself or 
others,” said Helen. 

‘‘ And that is why. Miss Harlow, that I say you little 
realize the influence you are having. You have done 
this, and successfully ; have demonstrated the possibil- 
ity : thus becoming the star of hope to many a break- 
ing heart.” 

Helen wept; but they were tears of joy. “God 
grant that it may prove so ! ” she said. “ But there is 
much to be done yet. I have won the battle here, in 
my own home and its surroundings ; but let me once 
go forth into the world, and then see.” 

“ You would have to contend for every inch of 
ground,” replied Elda ; “ but every inch that you 
gained, you would hold, — and hot for yourself only, but 
for others. Please give me a glass of water: I am 
faint.” 

“ You have talked too much for your strength,” said 
Helen, as she hastened to comply with the request. 
“ There, now lie and rest a while, and you will be bet- 
ter.” 


168 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ I shall never be better,” murmured the pale lips, 
as she sank away into unconsciousness. 

“ Never in this world,” thought Helen, as she looked 
upon her. Disease had done its w'ork. The temporary 
excitement over, and the feeble frame gave way utterly. 
She opened her eyes once, gasped the word, “ Mother ! ” 
and, before Helen could summon assistance, she was 
gone. 

Again the services of the Rev. Mr. Gordon were in 
requisition, and again there was a quiet funeral from 
Helen’s door. 

Mr. Gordon, whenever he called on Helen at Lake- 
side, or when he came, as he sometimes did, to take her 
to Glencove to spend the sabbath, — in either case he 
always brought Mrs. Gordon with him. She knew that 
this was done to avoid even the “ appearance of evil ; ” 
but she knew, also, that, but for her position before the 
world, it would not be considered necessary ; thus show- 
ing that even there she was still condemned. 

This — not the fact itself, but that which it indi- 
cated — sometimes aroused a feeling of bitterness in her 
heart; consequently, she was better prepared to under- 
stand the feeling expressed by Elda than she otherwise 
could have been. So she did not wait till some future 
time, as she had in Janets case, to tell Mr. Gordon the 
story of wrong, but related it that evening after the 
funeral. 

“ Now, are these things right ? ” she asked, when she 
had finished the recital. 

“ How can you ask such a question, Helen ? You 
know they are not I ” exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Gordon 
in the same breath. 


ANOTHER STORY. 


169 


“ Why, then, do Christian people permit them, ac- 
cept them, act from tliem ? ” 

‘■‘We can not have things as we would in this wicked 
world ; we can not control the multitude, for we have 
no authority over any but our own members,” said Mr. 
Gordon hesitatingly. 

“ Ah ! but you do not control them. Tlie influence 
of your teachings does not even result in a spirit of 
charity ; for, as a body, church-members are more 
severe on such than are those of the outside world.” 

“Of course, they naturally loathe sin more.’^ 

“ Why, then, not loathe it as much in a man as iii a 
woman ? ” 

Mr. Gordon did not reply, and Helen continued: 
“ I read a story not long since, in which an artist 
seduces a young girl from her home, to be the compan- 
ion of his travels. Soon after, he paints a picture called 
‘ The Magdalen,’ and sends it forth to the world to be 
the admiration of thousands as a work of art. The 
painting bore the face of this young girl. She loved 
him, — him only, him devotedly ; and this was her re- 
ward. 

“ Finally, the mother-feeling awakes in her heart ; 
and love for her unborn babe gives her the power to 
plead with him so eloquently, that she prevails, and he 
makes her his wife. A few months afterward, as he 
gazes upon that mother with her babe in her arms, he is 
so delighted, that he paints another picture, — ‘ The Ma- 
donna ; ’ but the face of the mother, beaming with love 
as she gazes on her child, is the same as that which rep- 
resented the ‘Magdalen,’ — the same woman, with no 
change but on his part Now, what do these things 


170 


HELEN HARLOW *8 VOW. 


mean ? Where is the remedy for them ? How shall 
woman escape from this tyranny, this injustice ? ” 

Mr. Gordon was about to reply ; but she interrupted 
him with, “ No, not now : don’t answer me now. Take 
time to think, — to think long and deeply ; and in the 
future this shall be one of the problems which we will 
discuss, — which I hope and pray we may solve satis- 
factorily.” 

“Amen,” said both Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, more 
deeply moved than either of them had ever been before 
upon the same subject. 

As to Helen’s course with Elda Ransom,- it could not 
well have been otherwise than the subject of a nine- 
days’ talk ; but, self-poised as she was, she cared as 
little for this as does the oak for the chattering of the 
crows in its branches. 



A DECENT WOMAN. 


171 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A DECENT WOMAN. 


“ Souls of so gross a mould, they know as much of purity as wallowing swine 
of cleanliness : how they wiU rave, if, on a robe of white, they find a single 
stain!” — L. W. 



T was as Helen had said : she had con- 
quered for herself respect at home, where 
she was known ; but no sooner did she 
step beyond it than her battles must be 
fought again. Her boy had now reached 
an age when it was desirable that he should have better 
advantages than could be furnished at Lakeside ; and so 
she concluded to send him away to school. 

Previous to doing this, however, she gave him a his- 
tory of his parentage, told him of the vow she had 
made before his birth, and of her hope that he would 
help to make that vow good. 

If there was ausfht on earth that Charles Harlow 


worshiped, it was his mother. His eye kindled with in- 
dignation as he listened to her story ; and, when she had 
finished, he threw his arms around her and exclaimed, 
“ Dear mother, you shall never blush for your boy ! ’’ 
Springville, the seat of a flourishing academy, lay 
about sixty miles to the north-east ; and thither the 
most of the youths of the place were sent, where 
parents were able to give them the advantages of such 



172 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


a school. Helen decided that Charles should go to this 
school for at least a couple of years ; but she would go 
with him, and see that he was well cared for, before she 
left him alone among strangers. 

It was a hard task for her to make up her mind to 
let him go from her ; but, having once decided that it 
was best, she did not hesitate. He must leave her 
some time, that was certain ; and how could he suc- 
cessfully battle with the world, unless he learned to 
stand alone, to depend upon himself. He was now six- 
teen years of age, and it was time that he began to 
depend upon his own resources. 

About half way between Lakeside and Springville 
was the public-house of Job Jenkins, or, rather, of Mrs. 
Job, for she really ruled both him and the house. Mrs. 
Job Jenkins was a character in her way, — really a good 
housekeeper, so far as cleanliness and thoroughness were 
concerned ; but she had a perfect hatred of every thing 
that she chose to call laziness or pride. Consequently, 
every thing about her had a sort of cast-iron stiffness : 
no rocking-chairs, no comfortable lounge ; she didn’t 
believe in “ sich nonsense.” 

Tall, angular, bony, with none of the sweetest of 
tempers : it was said that the contents of her hus- 
band’s bar did not add an}^ thing to its quality ; but we 
will not vouch for that. She gave her customers a 
good clean bed, however, and plenty of wholesome 
food ; so that, notwithstanding the drawback of her un- 
prepossessing appearance and manner, they did quite a 
business in the way of keeping travelers. 

Mrs. Jenkins would never wear any thing but the 
plainest of clothes, and as plainly made up as possible ; 


A DECENT WOMAN. 


173 


“ she couldn’t see, for her part, what a decent wo- 
man wanted of sich gimcracks and flumididdles.” 
She hated a pretty woman, and had no confidence in 
men in general, and Job in particular. “They are so 
easily made fools of,” she said, “ they all need some 
decent woman to take care of ’em, and keep ’em out of 
mischief.” 

It was here that Helen stopped with her son for the 
night, when on her way to Springville. They were 
hardly seated at the table, when Mrs. Job was called 
out to wait upon another arrival. “ Right in here, 
right in here, good folks ; supper is jist on the table ; ” 
and she led the way, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Gran- 
ger of Albright. They had been to Springville on a 
similar errand to that on which Helen was going, — to 
take their son there ; and were now on their way home. 

It was the first time that Helen and Granger had 
met in all these years. She was so calm, so self-pos- 
sessed, that none but the closest observer could have 
noted the tokens of deeply-stirred feeling. But Gran- 
ger’s confusion was only too evident. How he quailed 
before the clear eye of the woman he had wronged ! 
and, as he quickly glanced from mother to son, how he 
longed to take that son by the hand and imprint a 
father’s kiss upon his brow ! 

Mrs. Granger drew haughtily back. “ Thank you : 
I prefer to wait, to eating in such company.” Gran- 
ger frowned, and Charles flushed at this open insult ; 
but Helen gave no indication that she noticed it. Mrs. 
Granger was retiring toward the sitting-room, when the 
words, — 

“ Your father, my son,” arrested and brought her back. 


174 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ You acknowledge it then, you shameless creature! ” 
she fairly screamed ; and then, in the very next breath, 
“It is false ; and you know it is I ” 

Mrs. Job looked from one to the other with a puzzled 
air, muttering to herself, “ Pretty doings these, in a 
decent woman’s house I ” 

Mrs. Granger turned upon her with “ Why do you 
keep such creatures in your house, then, if you are a 
decent woman ? ” 

“ La, now I you needn’t bite a body’s head off. What 
did I know about her, only that she come in the stage 
and stopped here. A decent woman is sure to be im- 
posed on, if she don’t keep her eye-teeth skinned.” 

“Well, you know now. Look at her, will you? 
That great boy calling her mother, and she not a mar- 
ried woman I and not a single blush on her face, — the 
shameless creature ! ” 

Mrs. Job was fairly aroused. “ Away with you I ” slie 
shouted, as Mr. Job, attracted by the noise, came peer- 
ing in like a scared chicken, to see what the matter was. 

“ Away with you, Job Jenkins ! It’s a good thing that 
you’ve got a decent woman to take care of you, or sich 
critters would have ruined you long ago.” And then, 
turning to Helen, “ What do you mean, imposin’ on a 
decent woman? Just pick up your traps now, and 
leave.” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” replied Helen. “ When I 
find myself in bad company, I alwa3^s get out of it as 
soon as possible.” 

This reply so irritated Mrs. Job, that, but for Gran- 
ger’s interference, she would have dealt Helen a heavy 
blow. 


A DECENT WOMAN. 


175 


“ You need not interfere, sir,” said Charles, stepping 
quickly forward : “ I will protect my mother.” 

“ I hope you will always be able to do it, my son,” 
replied Granger. 

“ Job, Job ! can’t you protect your own lawful wife ? ” 
shrieked Mrs. Job, as she shook Granger’s grasp from 
her arm. 

Hear him now,” said Mrs. Granger, fairly choking 
with rage : “ hear, him call that creature’s child his son ; 
and that in the presence of his own wedded wife ! ” 

“ Helen,” continued Granger, paying no attention to 
his wife’s anger, “ these two termagants shall not drive 
you from this house to-night.” 

“ I prefer to go, Mr. Granger. Mrs. Granger, years 
ago, threatened the victim of her brother’s lust, poor 
Elda Ransom, with death, if she dared to reveal his 
guilt ; and she has attempted my life once : so I think 
that I shall be safer elsewhere.” 

“ It is false, you shameless wretch ! ” 

“ I can bring proof, madam, that you tried to burn me 
in my bed.” 

“ I simply wanted to smoke you and ” — 

“Ella!” 

Mrs. Granger looked into her husband’s face : there 
was an expression there that she had never seen before, 
and she dared not complete the sentence. 

‘‘ Burn you out? certainly I would,” said Mrs. Job \ 
“ and so would any decent woman. Let me catch my 
Job calling any other woman’s brat his son, and I’ll 
scratch her eyes out ; and so would any decent woman.” 

“ What’s wantin’ ? ” asked Job, peering in at the 
door. 


176 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ A horse and carriage, to take myself and son to 
Springville to-night,’’ promptly responded Helen. 

“ Back with ye, ye sneak!” was Mrs. Job’s loving 
reply. 

“ But you called me,” said he, manifesting a disposi- 
tion to stand his ground for once. 

“ And so I did ; but, if ye can’t cum when ye’re 
wanted, ye needn’t cum at all. A man nev^r’ll cum 
when a decent woman calls.” 

“ Can I have a horse and carriage ? ” repeated Helen. 

“ No, yer can’t. Tramp it afoot, as ye’ll have to yet, 
when ye’r beauty’s gone,” said Mrs. Job, with a mock- 
ing leer. 

“ Yes, you can. Mr. Jenkins, have a conveyance made 
ready for this lady immediately,” thundered Granger, 
in tones that poor Job was only too willing to obey, 
provided his better-half did not object too strongly. 

“ It’ll cost a powerful sight,” he put in deprecatingly. 
Job said this on purpose ; for, if he could only get Mrs. 
Job’s mind on the money part of the matter, she would 
say nothing further against Helen’s having a conveyance 
to any point she wished. 

The bait took : still, Mrs. Job would not give up too 
readily. “ Who’s goin’ to drive, I’d jist like to know ? ” 
she said. “ You needn’t think ye’ll git the chance, 
Job.” 

“ I will drive, if there is no one else to go, — that is, 
with the lady’s consent,” said Granger. 

“ You I ” exclaimed Mrs. Granger, bursting into 
hysterical sobs : “ after all that I have done to keep up 
the credit of the family, you will offer to take that 
creature out there, — to have her son as an associate 


A DECENT WOMAN. 


177 


for our Herbert ! Oh that I should live to see this 
day ! ” 

“ You need not trouble yourself, madam. I shall not 
accept his services,” said Helen. 

After a little delay, a driver was found ; and Mrs. 
Job’s eyes glistened as she saw the money counted out 
to pay for that night’s ride ; but still, she could not for- 
bear remarking, “ Of course, sich as she can have money 
when a decent woman can hardly git a decent dress to 
her back.” 

On arriving at Springville, Helen first found a place 
where they could have both refreshment and rest ; after 
which, she sought the principal of the academy, in order 
to make the necessary arrangements for Charles’s enter- 
ing the school. 

“ Helen Harlow ! ” repeated Prof. Wright musingly. 
“ Were you educated a Quaker, madam ? ” 

“ I was not,” she replied. 

“ You are a widow, I presume ? ” 

“ What has my domestic history to do with my son’s 
entering your school ? ” she asked. 

“ Nothing ; nothing at all, madam,” said he depre- 
catingly, shrinking from the indignant flash in her eye. 
“ Still, we like to know something of the history of those 
we have under our care.” 

“-You have a given sum for board, tuition, and inci- 
dentals ; do you not, sir ? ” 

“ We do, madam.” ' 

“ Certain rules and regulations which you expect 
your pupils to abide by, both as it pertains to the school, 
and in reference to their moral conduct ? ” 

“ Most assuredly, madam.” 

12 


178 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ If those terms are fully complied with, have you 
any further claims upon them, their parents, or their 
guardians ? ” continued Helen, with the most impertur- 
bable coolness. 

“ Most certainly not, madam,” replied the professor, 
bowing low. 

“ Upon these conditions, then, I will leave my son 
here. I shall take care to fulfill my part of the con- 
tract ; and, if he fails in the duties assigned to him, send 
him back to me, sir : ” and, counting out the sum needed 
for the first term of schooling, she placed it upon the 
table beside him. He was about to transfer it to his 
pocket, when she said, — 

“ A receipt, sir, if you please.” 

“ A receipt ! ” he exclaimed in astonishment. 

“ A receipt, sir. Would you trust that sum of money 
with me without something to show in return ? ” 

Without another word, the receipt was written and 
handed to her. 

And now,” said she, turning to Charles, “ I have 
no fears for you, my son, except in one respect ; and I 
think that love for your mother will make you strong 
even there.” 

He understood her meaning, and replied, “ For your 
sake, dear mother.” 

For one moment the tears came into her eyes. She 
took both his hands in hers, looked at him steadily for 
some seconds : then, leaning forward, she pressed a kiss 
upon his high, open forehead, another upon cheek and 
lip ; and, without another word, she was gone. 

Prof. Wright was strongly impressed by this scene, 
it was so different from the most of the partings 


A DECENT WOMAN. 


179 


he witnessed ; and he felt, that, whatever of mystery 
there might be about this woman’s life, her boy had 
been well taught, and would be an ornament to the 
school. 

He wondered, however, in what respect it was that 
his . mother feared for him : but he did not have to 
wait a great while before being enlightened ; not, 
however, by any act on young Harlow’s part, further 
than a manifestation of patience under provocation 
such as none but a noble nature could have borne. 



180 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


JUST AS I EXPECTED. 

“ The world is full of prophecies unthought of till the event occurs. "We 
fire the train ^unheeding the result, then murmur- when it comes; as though the 
fdles themselves had turned against us.” — L. W. 



EAD that, will you,” said Granger, toss- 
ing a letter into his wife’s lap. 

“ Just as I expected,” was her reply, 
as she glanced at the contents. 

“Just what you ought to have ex- 
pected when you filled Herbert’s head with your in- 
fernal nonsense. If you had let the boy alone, he 
would have done well enough.” 

“ Mr. Granger, you haven’t a particle of pride about 
you. You would just as soon our son would make an 
associate of that creature’s boy as not ; but I have more 
regard for the family reputation, I can assure you.” 

“ And a great deal it will add to the family reputa- 
tion to have Herbert sent home in disgrace,” replied 
Granger. 

“ But he shall not be : I will not submit to such an 
injustice.” 

“ I don’t see how you are going to help yourself, 
madam : if you put the devil into the boy’s head, and 
he acts it out, I can see no other way for you than to 
accept the consequences.” 

“ Perhaps so, sir ; but I’ll find some way to help my- 



JUST AS I EXPECTED. 


181 


self : that creature’s boy shall never triumph over my 
son, if I have to ” — 

“ What ? take his life, as you tried to his mother’s ? ” 

Mrs. Granger paled. “ And she has told you that 
absurd story ? ” she said. 

“ She has told me nothing, only what you heard your- 
self, madam. I have known all about that little affair 
of yours for years ; and Mr. Reid and myself have 
watched you too close to allow of its repetition ; for we 
did not think that it would add to the family reputation 
to have one of its members dance upon the gallows for 
the benefit of the public.” 

Mrs. Granger very conveniently fainted. It was the 
best thing she could do under the circumstances. Her 
husband, however, did not seem alarmed in the least, 
but walked deliberately out of the room, leaving her to 
recover as best she could. Unfeeling, was he ? Per- 
haps ; and perhaps the faint was a feint. And remember, 
dear reader, that people are not likely to be as patient 
as saints, when reaping a crop of thistles, even though 
they have sown the seed themselves. 

The letter was from Prof. Wright, requesting them 
to come for their son, as his conduct was such that he 
could not be permitted to remain in the school. 

Mrs. Granger, true to the petty pride of her nature, 
as well as to gratify her spite toward Helen, had written 
to Herbert, charging him not to associate with a boy by 
the name of Harlow from Lakeside, as his mother was 
a bad woman who had never been married. Her idea 
was, that this *fact, circulated amongst the boys, would 
cause them to annoy Charles, till he would be provoked 
into some overt act of impatience which would result in 
his expulsion from the school. 


182 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


In this she was sadly mistaken ; and the cup she had 
prepared for another came home to herself. It was on 
this very point that Helen had especially guarded 
Charles. 

She told him what he might expect from weak or 
thoughtless minds, and also from malicious ones. 
“ And here,” said she, “ from the spirit in which you 
meet this difficulty, shall I found my hopes of your 
future. If you can conquer here, you can co5iquer 
EVERY THING.” And, week by week, her letters to him 
reiterated the same lesson ; consequently, he was pre- 
pared for the abuse to which he soon found himself sub- 
ject. 

But, armed with a mother’s counsels and a mother’s 
love, it failed to elicit one retort or one act that was to 
his disadvantage. 

Still, he avoided the company of his tormentors when 
he could, and frequently spent his hours of recreation in 
the schoolroom. The professor noticed this, and de- 
termined to learn the cause. He remembered the words, 

“ I have no fears for you, my son, except on one 
point ” — felt that this fact had some connection with 
that point, whatever it was ; and so he watched and 
waited. 

The school-building was so constructed, that, from one 
of the upper rooms, one could see and hear all that was 
passing in the playground without himself being seen. 
Sometimes this room was occupied by one of the teach- 
ers, and sometimes it w^as not ; but the boys did not 
know of its existence. 

Hither the professor repaired, one day, just after the * 
recitation-hour. 


JUST AS I EXPECTED. 


183 


“ Where is Harlow ? Isn’t he coming out ? ” asked 
one of the better-disposed class of boys. 

“ Of course not : he’s afraid we will say something to 
him about his ma, — the bastard ! ” responded Granger. 

“ I say, Granger, it’s too bad, — the way you treat that 
boy,” said another of the group. 

“ If you wi^h to associate with such as he, I am sure 
I don’t care ; but I sha’n’t. I should think more of him 
if he had spunk enough to say a word for himself,” was 
Granger’s sneering reply. 

Prof. Wright was looked upon by many as a cold, 
hard man, strictly just and uniformly kind, but more 
from a sense of justice, from a desire to do right, than 
from any genial feelings of love for humanity. But he 
had a heart, and a warm one too, when it was once 
reached ; and Charles Harlow, with his open, honest 
countenance, and his straightforward, respectful manner, 
had won upon him more deeply than his pupils gener- 
ally did. 

In a moment he realized the boy’s position, knew 
what the point was to which his mother had referred ; 
and his heart went out with almost a father’s tender- 
ness toward the brave youth who was fighting so man- 
fully this the first battle of life. “ I will put a stop to 
this,” said he to himself, as he descended to the school- 
room. 

He found Charles sitting at his desk, with his face 
buried in his hands. He looked up as the professor en- 
tered, smiled, and, taking his book, went to studying. 

“ You work too hard, Mr. Harlow : you will break 
down if you go on in this manner,” said he, going for- 
ward, and taking the book from the boy’s hand. “ And 


184 


HELEN HARLOW ^8 VOW. 


there is no need for it, I am sure ; for there is not a pupil 
in school who can learn faster than you can. Come, 
now, go to the playground, where the rest are.” 

Charles looked as though he would rather not : never- 
theless, he arose to his feet, and reached for his hat. “ I 
know more than you think I do ; and I will stand your 
friend,” said the professor, noticing his hesitation. 

This remark brought the tears ; but, dashing them 
aside, he hastened from the room. The professor looked 
after him a moment, and then returned to his place of 
reconnoissance. 

“ Here comes mamma’s boy. I wonder where his papa 
is? ” were the first words that greeted his ears. 

“ Shame, shame, Granger ! ” said two or three voices 
in that half-earnest, half-wavering tone which only pro- 
vokes to further demonstration. 

“ Will he tell us where his papa is ? ” continued 
Granger in the same insulting tones. 

Charles walked directly up to where he was standing, 
and looked him squarely in the face. Herbert did not 
quite relish this, for the mean are always cowardly. 

He stepped back a little, and said “ None of your im- 
pudence, my lad ! ” 

“ You asked me about my father,” replied Charles. 

“ I did, my man, and should be happy to learn some- 
thing of that mythical personage.” 

“ And you really wish me to tell you ? ” he continued. 

“ Of course I do : what are you waiting for ? ” 

Boys, you hear what he says,” said Charles, turn- 
ing to the crowd. 

“ What’s the fool coming at ? ” exclaimed Herbert in 
a tone of derision. 


JUST AS I EXPECTED. 


185 


“ I wish to know positively if you would like to 
hear the name of my father ; and, as you say you 
-would, I will tell you. It is Edward Granger of Al- 
bright.” 

Had he been struck by a cannon-ball, Herbert Gran- 
ger could not have been more completely stunned than 
he was by this announcement. He turned pale and red 
by turns, opened his lips as if to speak, then shut them 
again ; and, but for the suppressed titter that ran 
through the group standing around, I do not know but 
he would have fainted. This aroused his anger ; and, 
springing quickly forward, he dealt Charles a blow 
between the eyes which knocked him prostrate, with, — 

“Take that, you lying son of a b — h!” and was 
about to spring upon him, without giving him a chance 
to rise, when he was caught by the arm and held back 
by some of the larger boys. 

Charles arose, and quietly wiped the blood from his 
face ; remarking, as he did so, “ You only got what you 
asked for, sir.” 

“It’s a lie, you brat of a b — h!” yelled Herbert, 
struggling to free himself from those who held him. 

“ It isn’t a lie neither,” said little Henry Sherwood. 
“ They look so much alike, anybody might know they 
were brothers.” 

Henry was from Lakeside, and, knowing Charles, had 
sympathized with him all along ; but, like a great many 
older people in similar circumstances, he had not the 
courage to say so till he saw that the tide was turning. 

“ That’s so; that’s so ! They do look alike, and that’s 
a fact,” echoed half a dozen voices at once. 

“ Only Charles is the handsomest/’ continued Henry 
Sherwood. 


186 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


Herbert was beside himself with rage. He tore him- 
self free ; and, catching up a heavy ball-club that was 
lying near, he was about to use it right and left, when 
the voice of Prof. Wright, asking, “ Boys, what does this 
mean ? ” put a stop to further proceedings. 

Herbert dropped his club and his head at the same 
time, while Charles looked boldly up. The professor 
smiled, as if to say, “ All right, my boy ; ” while one of 
the older boys commenced giving an outline of the 
causes which had led to the disturbance. 

But he was interrupted with “ Never mind, Mr. 
Swain : I saw and heard it all. Mr. Granger, will you 
come with me ? ” Herbert followed with a quaking 
heart ; while Charles, for the first time since Herbert’s 
first letter from his mother after his arrival in Springville, 
— for the first time since then, enjoyed his hour with 
his school-fellows without being subjected to insult. 

Prof. Wright led young Granger to his study, — the 
room facetiously called by the boys “ the court-room.” 
Placing him a chair, and seating himself in another, he 
asked in no very gentle tones, — ' 

“ And now, Mr. Granger, will you be good enough 
to tell me what all this means ? ” 

Herbert’s temper was up, and with it the pride of the 
Wards ; still, he was a little afraid of the stern old man 
before him. “ He insulted me,” was the dogged reply, 
after a little hesitation. 

“ A little more respectful, if you please. How did 
he insult you ? ” 

“ I would rather not tell, sir.” 

“ But I command you to tell, young man.” 

Herbert looked up. There was no relenting on that 


JUST AS I EXPECTED. 


187 


stern face. “ He spoke disrespectfully of my father, 
sir.” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“ He — I — I — I do not wish to tell you, sir.” 

“ It is not as you wish, but as I wish.” 

‘‘ He — I will not tell : so there ! ” exclaimed Her- 
bert in sheer desperation. 

“ You will not leave this room till you do,” said the 
professor, rising, and turning the key in the lock, and 
then transferring it to his pocket. “ Now, young man, I 
await your convenience. There are just ten minutes 
before the next recitation commences ; if you tell me in 
that time, well ; if not, you will be detained here for at 
least three hours, before you will have the opportunity 
and, taking his watch, he laid it down where Herbert 
could mark the time. 

One, two, three minutes passed, and no sound was 
heard but the ticking of the little monitor ; and another 
minute : and then, with a desperate effort, Herbert man- 
aged to say, “ Harlow’s mother was never married.” 

“ Is he to blame for that ? ” asked the professor. 

“ But he told me that my father was his.” 

“ What did you say to him that caused him to say 
it.” 

“ My mother told me that I was not to associate with 
such as he.” 

“ That is not answering my question, Mr. Granger.” 

‘‘I — I told him I should like to know where his 
papa was.” 

‘‘ And then knocked him down for telling you.” 

“ Mr. Wright I ” 

“ Is it not so, young man ? ” 


188 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ But you do not, you can not believe that he told the 
truth, sir ! ” 

“ I do not know as to that, sir ; but I can hardly 
think Mr. Harlow capable of telling what he does not 
believe to be true. And, according to your own state- 
ment, you insulted him. I have ample proof of this, 
even if you had attempted to falsify, which I am glad 
that you did not; for I heard every thing that was said. 
Go to your room now ; and this evening I will settle 
this matter with you. 

Herbert was only too glad to retire ; but he spent the 
balance of the day in nursing his wrath, and writing a 
pitiful account of his wrongs to his mother, instead of 
cultivating a spirit that was likely to reconcile the differ- 
ence between himself and the unyielding professor. 
Consequently, when he was required to apologize to 
Charles before the school, he positively refused to obey. 

“ Just as you can afford, Mr. Granger ; but you will 
be expelled from the school if you do not.’’ 

“ I have written to my mother, sir, and she will see 
that I have justice done 'liie,” was the sullen reply. 
Prof. Wright turned and left him without another 
word; but went directly to his room, and wrote the 
letter to which we have referred in the commence- 
ment of this chapter. 

Herbert’s letter was already in Mrs. Granger’s pos- 
session when the professor’s letter reached Albright ; 
but she had concealed the fact from her husband, 
hoping, by some means, to settle the difficulty without 
its coming to his knowledge. She well knew, that, if 
she had kept quiet herself, this would never have oc- 
curred : but, in her overweening pride, she had taken a 


JUST AS I EXPECTED. 


189 


step that had made the parentage of Helen’s son known 
to the whole school ; and she inwardly cursed herself for 
the folly that had produced so undesirable a result. 

In fact, she had overreached herself ; and she knew 
it, but was far too proud to acknowledge it. All 
night long, the night previous, she had lain awake 
studying over the matter, trying to decide what course 
it was best to take to save the family reputation from 
further blight ; and now she was confronted with this 
letter, requesting them to come and bring their, son 
home. 

What should be done ? What would the people of 
Albright say if they knew the facts ? They must 
not know it ! But how could she prevent it ? There 
were pupils at Springville not only from Albright, but 
from Lakeside, Glencove, and all the country round. 
There was no help for the matter, as she could see. 
The world would not only know that her husband w^as 
the father of Helen Harlow’s child, — not only this, 
but that her own son had been expelled from the 
school in which the other was retained with honor. 

It was a bitter cup for the proud woman; but she 
had prepared it, and she was obliged to drink it. She 
would have taken the lives of these she hated so in- 
tensely ; but the failure of her first scheme, together 
with the so recent remarks of Granger, — these made 
her fear to attempt such a thing. 

She went to Springville, had a stormy interview with 
the professor, making things worse instead of better ; 
took her son, and placed him in another school, and then 
went home, saying, “ It is just as I expected : the men 
are all alike. A creature like that is always favored.” 


190 


HELEN HARLOW *8 VOW. 


“ A creature like what ? ” asked Granger. 

“ You know well enough who I mean, sir. Not only 
such, but their children, born of shame, will find favor 
with the very best of men, when a child honestly born 
must stand aside. Oh the wickedness of this ungodly 
world ! ” 

“ Perhaps you had better turn saint, and go into a 
convent,” said Granger. 

“ So that you could marry your mistress ! ” she re- 
torted. “No, Edward Granger! my children shall 
never be disgraced like that. . I would rise from my 
grave to prevent it.’’ 

“ That is easier said than done,” he replied ; leaving 
the room at the same time, to avoid further conflict. 



EMENDATORE. 


191 



CHAPTER XV. 

EMENDATORE. 

“ A bubbling spring lies at your feet : you heed it not. It sinks from sight, and, 
flowing underground, comes forth to meet more genial light elsewhere. You 
learn its fame; go look upon, then quaff its crystal waves, and wonder whence 
It came.” — L. W. 

HARLES HARLOW had no further 
trouble at Springville. The battle was 
fought, and the victory won, — a battle 
which called for greater courage than is 
needed on the tented field. The boy who 
can control himself needs fear nothing else. Boys instinc- 
tively recognize this, though slow to act upon it ; but, 
when they see such a spirit manifested, they are sure to 
respect it. Granger, on the contrary, having provoked 
his own trouble, met with little sympathy, even from 
those who were the most ready to join with him when 
the tide was in his favor. 

It is a hard lesson, but one that all must learn, soon 
or late, — that those who give the most boisterous de- 
monstrations of approval are not likely to be the truest of 
friends. And it were well to understand the opposite 
also, — that those who are loudest in condemnation are 
not always our worst enemies. 

As Charles is now pleasantly situated, — the first in his 
classes, and a favorite with both teacher and pupils, — 



192 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


we will return to Lakeside for a while. Helen kept for 
sale, among other things, the popular periodicals and 
weeklies of the day. About this time there appeared, 
first in one of these, and then in another, an article, 
signed “ Emendatore,” about which every one seemed 
running wild. 

“ Who is the writer? ” Is it a man’s or a woman’s 
style?” “What is the meaning of the signature?” 
&c., were the questions that flew from lip to lip. 

“ Miss Harlow, have you read the article in ‘ The 
Waverley ’ of this week, signed ‘ Emendatore ’ ? ” 

“ I have been so busy this week, that I have had but 
little time to read,” was the quiet reply. 

“ Oh, but you ought to read that ! It’s perfectly 
splendid ! ” This from a young miss ; and the next 
hour, perhaps, — 

“ Helen, have you read the article in last week’s 
‘ Ledger,’ signed ‘ Emendatore’ ? ” would be asked by 
some staid matron who “ never read stories,” but who 
had been persuaded to read this, “ because everybody 
was talking about it.” 

“ I have heard it spoken of, Mrs. Coburn, but do not 
get time to read as much as I would like.” 

“ But you must take time to read this : it is well 
worth it, I can assure you. If all stories were like it, I 
should not object to them as I do.” 

The next week, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon call in, on 
their way to visit a friend in the country ; and the first 
question after they are fairly seated is, “ Helen , have you 
read the story in this week’s ‘ Harper,’ signed ‘ Emenda- 
tore ’ ? ” 

“ I just glanced at it, last evening, but was interrupted 
by a customer.” 


EMENDATORE. 


193 


“ Well, you must read that, if you never read another 
thing of the kind,” said Mr. Gordon. 

“ What do you think husband said when he first read 
it ? ” asked Mrs. Gordon. 

“ I am sure I cannot tell,” replied Helen. “ I am not 
good at guessing.” 

Wife ! ” said Mr. Gordon, shaking his finger at her 
threateningly. 

“ Oh! I am not afraid of you, sir,” said she, laughing. 
“ Enforce your authority if you can.” 

“ It is not of much use to try to enforce any thing 
in these degenerate days,” he replied, with assumed 
gravity. 

“ But you have not told me what he said,” remarked 
Helen. 

“ He said, that, if you ever did such things, he should 
think that you were ‘ Emendatore.’ ” 

“ I am not at all surprised that he did not wish you 
to tell me that he had made so unreasonable a supposi- 
tion.” 

Mr. Gordon cast a searching look upon Helen, but 
read nothing ; and, turning away with an expression of 
disappointment upon his face, said to himself, “ It can 
not be ; but it is so like her.” 

“ I told husband,” continued Mrs. Gordon, “ that you 
would laugh at him. But I should really like to know 
the author of that article.” 

“ Authoress, you mean,” responded her husband. 

“ I can’t see, for my part, Mr. Gordon, how you can 
think so ; for, certainly, it is not a woman’s style. It is 
too strong and vigorous.” 

“ It is strong and vigorous, I will own, wife ; but it is 

13 


194 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


not masculine. None but a woman who had suffered 
and grown strong could have brought out those fine, 
delicate touches of feeling.” 

“ I think I must read it myself,” said Helen. 

“ Oh, do ! and, when we return, we will hear your 
decision ; for I am sure you will agree with me.” 

“ Of course she will, wife,” laughed Mr. Gordon. 

“ I do not think, under the circumstances, that I 
shall give you my decision, even if I conclude that I am 
capable of deciding: for if I agree with you, Mrs. Gor- 
don, I shall bring down the concentrated wrath of your 
liege lord upon my devoted head ; and if with him, there 
is danger of provoking you to jealousy.” 

“ Just like a woman : politic enough to get out of a 
thing, if you do not wish to do it.” 

“ I am a woman, Mr. Gordon ; and why shouldn’t I 
be just like one ? ” asked HeleiT very demurely. 

“ You are just like yourself, that is certain,” re- 
plied he. 

“ I wish I knew who ‘ Emendatore’ was,” said the 
lady, “ for ” — 

“ If only for the purpose of learning whether man or 
woman, I presume,” interrupted Mr. Gordon. 

“ I think,” said Helen, “ that it makes but little dif- 
ference as to that. It is what., not who.^'‘ 

“True, true; but then one has some curiosity, you 
know.” 

“ You mean, wife, that a woman has. Eve had, 
'‘you know.'^ But here comes Mrs. Sherwood.” 

Mrs. Sherwood’s opinion of Helen has changed some- 
what since we saw her last, and she is now one of her 
best friends. Henry had written to his mother an 


EMEND ATORE. 


195 


account of the scene between Charles Harlow and 
Herbert Granger, at Springville. The secret of 
Charles’s parentage was, therefore, no longer a secret 
at Lakeside ; and to say that Mrs. Sherwood was some- 
what amused and very much gratified by the manner 
in which Charles had sustained himself would simply 
be speaking the truth. 

“ Good-morning, Helen. Glad to meet you, Mr. 
and Mrs. Gordon. What beautiful weather we are 
having ! ” 

“ Very fine for the time of year. How is your family, 
Mrs. Sherwood ? ” replied Mr. Gordon. 

“ Never better. But have you read the articles that 
have appeared recently, signed ‘ Emendatore,’ Mrs. 
Gordon ? ” 

“ Just what we were talking about when you came 
in. Did you ever read any thing like them ? ” 

“ I never did. How they go right home to one’s 
heart ! I hope, if ever the writer publishes a book, that 
Helen will have them for sale ; for it would certainly 
pay her well. Have you any thing further from 
‘ Emendatore,’ Helen ? ” 

“ There is a short story in ‘ Harper ; ’ but I don’t 
believe I have a copy left, Mrs. Sherwood.” 

It was thus that “ Emendatore ” was everywhere 
received. But, though public expectation stood on 
tiptoe, the writer remained incognito^ — the secret of 
identity impenetrable. 

About six months after the above conversation, a 
clairvoyant who was interested in following up this 
question might have seen a woman in the office of a 


196 


HELEN HARLOW *8 VOW. 


Boston publisher, with a manuscript in hand, consulting 
with the head of the firm in reference to its publica- 
tion in book-form. 

“ How much will you take for your manuscript ? ” 
asked the publisher. 

“ I do not wish to dispose of it, sir.” 

“ It costs quite a sum, madam, to get a book fairly 
before the public, especially if the writer is unknown.” 

“ I am aware of it, sir ; but I prefer to publish upon 
my own responsibility. Then no one loses but myself, 
if it is a failure ; and, if it is a success, I have the benefit 
of it.” 

“ Under what name do you come before the public ? 
— your own, or shall you use a nom de 'plume f ” 

“ Emendatore.” 

“ Emendatore ! ” he exclaimed, starting to his feet 
in his astonishment. “ Are you the writer of the 
articles that have recently appeared under that signa- 
ture ? ” 

“ I believe I am.” 

“ And you will not sell your manuscript on any 
terms ? ” 

“ I should rather not.” 

That “ rather not ” meant much more than a posi- 
tive refusal would have done from some ; and the gen- 
tleman knew it : still, he did not like to give up the 
point. “ I will pay you handsomely for it,” he said. 

The lady shook her head. 

“ I think you stand in the way of your own interest, 
madam.” 

“ I shall not dispose of the manuscript upon any 
terms,” she replied, finding that nothing but a positive 
refusal would do. 


EMEND ATORE. 


197 


“ Of course, I do not wish to urge you, and I have 
no doubt but your book will be a success : still, when 
publishers take the responsibility of a book, it has more 
weight with the reading-public than one which is put 
forth by individual enterprise, from the fact that the 
former are supposed to understand the merits of a 
work ; whereas the latter are liable to be partial, — are 
less qualified to judge independently of what they 
desire to be true.” 

“ I acknowledge the justness of your remarks, sir, 
but prefer to venture alone.” 

“ I hope, then, madam, that you will permit us to be 
your publishers.” 

“ I shall have no objection to that, provided that you 
will do as well by me as I can do elsewhere.” 

“ Miss Harlow, have you seen the announcement ? ” 

“ To what announcement do you refer. Miss Mary ? ” 

“ ‘ Emendatore’s ’ book. I want you to send for a 
copy for me.” 

“ Certainly I will.” 

“ I think. Miss Harlow, that you had better order 
several, while you are sending ; for I know that you can 
sell them.” 

Perhaps, Miss Mary, the book may not be as good 
as the short articles are.” 

“ Yes, it is ; for Mrs. Fitzhammer was up to Albright 
yesterday, and she says that Mr. Granger has a copy. 
He has just come home from Boston ; and he brought it 
wdth him. Well, Mrs. Granger sat up till far into the 
night to finish it. She is in raptures over it ; says that 
she would give any thing to be acquainted with the 
writer,” 


198 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ And what does Mr. Granger say ? ” asked Helen. 

“They say he only laughs at her enthusiasm, and 
tells her that the writer, he presumes, does not look nor 
act so very different from other people.” 

“ I presume they do not,” said Helen with a smile. 

“ How can you say so. Miss Harlow ? For my part, 
I think that they must be perfectly grand. How I 
should like to see a live author ! But here comes Mrs. 
Fitzhammer herself.” 

It was a fact ; the lawyer’s wife, after all these 
years, had condescended to enter.Helen Harlow’s place 
of business. Helen bowed ; but the lady took no 
notice of the salutation, but, in the tone of one ordering 
an inferior, said, “ I wish you to order a half-dozen 
copies of a popular work recently published by Blank 
& Co., Boston. ‘ Emendatore ’ is the name of the 
author. The title of the book I have forgotten ; but 
you will find a notice *of it in the last ‘ Harper.’ ” 

“ I am about to order a supply, and you can have as 
many as you wish, madam,” replied Helen. 

“ Why, Mrs. Fitzhammer, what do you want of so 
many ? ” asked Mary Holmes, opening her blue eyes 
wider than ever. 

“ Why, Miss Mary ! you here ? I did not see you. 
How is your mother ? ” 

“ She is well. But you did not tell me what you were 
going to do with so many copies of ‘ Emendatore’s ’ 
book?” 

“ Don’t you know. Puss, that the holidays are com- 
ing?” 

“ So they are. I didn’t think of that ; and, if I 
thought Santa Claus would remember me in that 
shape, I wouldn’t send for one.” 


EMENDATORE. 


199 


“ Santa Claus will be pretty certain to remember you 
in some shape,” was Mrs. Fitzhammer’s flattering 
answer. “But, come ; are you not going home ? I 
shall pass right by your house, and shall be happy to 
have your company.” 

“ Oh, no ! I can’t go yet. Mother said that I 
might stay till eleven o’clock with Miss Harlow ; and it 
lacks more than an hour of that time.” 

The lawyer’s wife looked sober, and was saying 
something about its not being proper for young girls to 
be standing around in, shops, but was cut short with — 

“ I guess my mother knows what’s proper for me, 
Mrs. Fitzhammer.” 

“ Of course ; of course she does. Miss Mary. I did 
not intend any reflection upon her. Give her my re- 
spects, will you ? Good-morning.” 

“ The proud fool ! How I hate her ! ” said young 
Miss America, as soon as she was out of hearing. 

“You should not call names, nor hate any one, my 
dear,” said Helen mildly. 

“ But I do hate her. Miss Harlow. She thinks, 
because my father is rich, and can give her Fitzhammer 
of a husband plenty of business, that she must be 
very polite to me. But how did she treat you ? I’ve 
got eyes, and can see how things go; and Mary Holmes 
knows who she likes, and w’ho she don’t like ; and 
Mary Holmes’s mother knows what is proper for her 
daughter, as well as Mrs. Fitz does.” 

Helen tried to frown down this burst of “free 
speech;” but it was of no use, the indignant girl 
would have her say. 

Helen turned, at this point, to wait upon customers. 


200 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


and there was silence for a few minutes ; but, as soon 
as they were gone, the girl commenced again : “ Six 
copies of ‘ Emendatore’s ’ book ! How very grand, 
indeed ! Couldn’t remember the title, but you would 
find it in the last ‘ Harper ’ I ” 

“ Mary, hush ! ” 

“ Yes, I will. Miss Harlow. But what is the title 
of that book ? I am like Mrs. Fitz ; I have forgotten 
too.” 

“ ‘ Trial and Triumph,’ isn’t it ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! that’s it. I’ll try and remember it now.” 

Helen sent for a supply of the wonderful book ; and 
it had a large sale in that vicinity. But who was the 
author ? That was the question which remained un- 
answered. 



THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


201 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


“If you bray a fool in a mortar •with a pestle, yet will not his foolishness 
depart from him.” — Bible. 



F the idea of doing an evil act pnce takes 
possession of the human soul, it seems as 
if it was almost impossible to eradicate it, 
till experiment after experiment has dem- 
onstrated its utter folly. Mrs. Granger 
had never given up her purpose of injuring Helen in 
some way ; and now, since the affair at Springville, 
which had resulted so disastrously to her hopes, that 
desire had been increased tenfold. 

But how to proceed without being detected, — that 
wasThe question : a question that she found herself una- 
ble to solve ; and, the more she pondered it, the more 
difficult it became. But persevering thought will bring 
its results here as well as elsewhere ; and she finally 
fixed upon a plan that seemed feasible, — a plan by 
means of which she could injure her in her property, 
if not in her person ; and she hoped to in both. 

It seems incredible, almost, that a woman, one who 
stood well in society, was a wife and a mother, one 
who had listened all her life to the preached gospel, — 
it seems hard, I say, for the common masses of the 



202 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


people to realize that such a one could be guilty of 
such deliberate wickedness. But Mrs. Granger’s hatred 
to Helen and her boy amounted almost to monomania ; 
and when it is remembered that her ruling idea from 
childhood up had been family pride, and that Helen 
with her son was a living evidence against the immacu- 
lateness of its record, it will not be so much wondered 
at, and more especially if one comes to understand 
the psychological power of an idea, when it once gets 
control of the mind, — how all else must yield to its 
sway. 

Mrs. Granger knew that Charles would be at home 
during the summer vacation. Albright was at least 
twenty miles from Lakeside : therefore, it was out of 
the question to think of going there and returning the 
same night. But some two and a half miles from 
Lakeside was what was called “ Blueberry Mountain,” 
— a place, of resort for parties from a distance, who used 
to visit it during the berry season ; bringing a tent and 
cooking utensils, and stopping, perhaps, three or four 
days, — a kind of picnic, or summer recreation, the 
fruit serving more as an excuse to bring people tog^her 
than any thing else. 

Mrs. Granger resolved to join one of these parties, 
and, though so near Cousin Fitzhammer’s, to stay upon 
the ground just for the novelty of the thing; and, 
whatever might occur, who would suspect her of going 
through the woods down the side of the mountain, 
alone and on foot, for that distance ? 

With the most diabolical perseverance she experi- 
mented for weeks, yes, months, with a slow match ; 
testing its certainty, and the length of time that might 


THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


203 


be made to elapse between ignition and explosion, if a 
train of powder was properly laid. During this time, 
Ward, her second son, was heard frequently to complain 
how fast his powder disappeared ; but his mother only 
laughed at him, telling him that boys never realized 
how much powder and shot they wasted when they 
once became fascinated with a gun. 

“ But, mother, it is not my shot ; that holds out well 
enough : but my powder is gone before I know it ; and 
father will think that I hunt all the time, I am afraid.” 

“ Well, here is some money to get you some more 
powder ; and see that you take good care of it this 
time.” 

Ward took the money, wondering at his mother’s 
unusual generosity, and hastened away to make his 
purchase. This time he filled his powder-horn, and 
laid the rest away very carefully upon an upper shelf 
in the closet in his room. A few days afterward, his 
mother said to him, “ Ward, where did you put your 
powder ? ” 

“ On the upper shelf in my room.” 

“ Did you leave it in the paper ? ” 

“ A part of it. Why ? ” 

“ Come with me, and I will show you.” 

He followed, as desired, and found a hole in his 
powder-paper, and nearly all the powder gone. “ What 
does this mean, mother ? ” he asked. 

“ Don’t you see,” she said, “ that this shelf goes 
back farther than the others, and that there is a hole in 
it leading down between the plastering and the outside 
of the building ? ” 

“ So there is ; and it looks just as if it was made on 
purpose.” 


204 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ Nonsense, my son : I have only been making it a 
little larger, so as to put down some poison for the 
mice.” 

“ It’s the mice, then, that have been after my 
powder ? ” 

“ They have, probably, been gnawing the paper. 
They use old paper and rags, which they cut up with 
their teeth, to make their nests of.” 

“But, mother, I did not lay the paper there, but 
here in this corner.” 

“ They dragged it there, I presume.” 

“ But, how could they do it without scattering the 
powder ? ” 

“ They didn’t : I have cleaned it up.” 

“Well, I must say that they are cunning little 
wretches to turn that paper in such shape that one hole 
will just match the other, and let my powder all down 
behind the plastering. If they should take a notion to 
carry a match down there, they could blow us up.” 

Mrs. Granger laughed. “ So they might. Ward ; I 
did not think of that. Go and get me a cup of water ; 
and I will turn it down there, and spoil their fun by 
wetting the powder.” 

“ Guess it wouldn’t be much fun for them, any more 
* than for us,” said Ward, as he trudged away after the 
water. 

“ Ward,” said she, on his return, “ you need not 
say any thing to your father about this : for it might 
worry him ; and there is no danger.” 

Ward did not say any thing to his father about it: 
but he told the Irish girl in the kitchen, and she went 
to “ the master ” with it ; for “ sure, and she wasn’t 
going to stay there and be blowed to smitherins.” 


THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 205 

Granger asked his wife what it meant. “ Only 
some of Ward’s nonsense about some powder he 
spilled. I will go and pacify Margy ; ” and he thought 
nothing further of the matter then. But he remem- 
bered it afterward. 

The time arrived for blueberry-parties, and Mrs. 
Granger declared her intention of going. She hadn’t 
been since she was a girl ; and she was going to try it 
this year, just for the fun of the thing. “ I don’t 
expect that you will want to go, Mr. Granger, and I 
don’t ask it ; but I shall go.” 

“ A very polite way of telling me that you don’t 
want me along, madam ; but that makes no difference. 
If you don’t get sick, I shall not care,” he replied. 

“ And much you would care if I did, if I was only 
sick enough to die ! ” she retorted. 

“ So far as that is concerned, I would a little rather 
that my children would not be deprived of a mother 
just yet. It matters not as to myself,” was his cool 
reply. 

“ Of course not, so long as that creature lives,” she 
was about to say, but checked herself in time ; for she 
did not wish to turn his thoughts in that direction just 
then. As thoucrh it needed her bitter words to make 
him think of Helen ! 

‘‘ Rather hard language from a man to his wife ! ” 
she said, as soon as she could command herself enough 
to speak calmly. 

He looked up quickly, caught the expression of 
malignity upon her face, and said to himself, “ There 
is mischief on foot somewhere.” But he gave no 


answer. 


206 


HELEN HARLOW* S VOW. 


After a few minutes’ silence, she continued : ‘‘I 
would rather you would go tooj Edward ; but I had no 
idea that you would, if I asked you.” 

“Mischief! ” said he again, to himself; but, aloud, 
“ I can not, Mrs. Granger : I have business that will 
not permit of it.” 

Strange efforts at concealment will reveal themseives. 
The very attempt only draws attention to the fact 
that there is something hidden ; and this once known, 
it is half discovered. 

Tuesday morning opened clear and bright, and our 
party set out on their excursion in high spirits. Two 
nights they were to be out, and return on Thursday to 
Albright, with fruit enough to make their fortunes, as 
they laughingly said. They reached the mountain about 
the middle of the afternoon ; and with pitching their 
tents, and gathering berries enough for their suppers, the 
time was employed till it was too late to do any thing 
further that night. Mrs. Granger had induced them to 
camp pretty well down toward the village ; “ For, if we 
get sick of the fun, we can get up and go to the public- 
house,” she said. 

This done, she had rambled about till she found the 
path which led directly thither, — the one followed by 
the children who came from Lakeside to gather the 
tempting fruit. 

She made no further attempt the first night, but 
retired very early ; saying that she wished to get well 
rested for the next day. It was little that she slept, 
however ; for her mind was too much occupied with 
thoughts of the deed she meditated. 

The following day waned slowly. Toward evening. 


THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


207 


a party from Lakeside, Mrs. Fitzhammer amongst the 
number, visited them ; and that lady was urgent in her 
entreaties that “ Cousin Ella should go and spend the 
night with her, instead of staying out there in that 
horrid place.” But “ Cousin Ella ” only laughed at 
hfer, persistently refusing to comply with her request. 

The sun set grandly ; and the stars shone as bright 
as though sin had never entered the hearts of men and 
women. The last of the party had retired, and were 
sleeping even more soundly than usual, from the effects 
of the day’s fatigue, when a masked figure stole forth, 
and made its way swiftly toward the village. 

In the mean time. Granger kept thinking of his 
wife’s unusual mood ; and, the more he thought, the 
more troubled he became. Something was wrong 
somewhere, he was quite certain. All at once her 
close proximity to Helen flashed upon his mind, in con- 
nection with the former attempt to burn her out. 

“ My God I ” he exclaimed : “ why did I not think 
of this before ? ” and, saddling his best horse, he was 
soon on his way to Lakeside. It was about ten o’clock 
on the second night of Mrs. Granger’s absence from 
Albright, that a solitary horseman dismounted near the 
now deserted house in which Mrs. Harlow had died. 
Leading the animal to the rear of the building, he 
made it fast to a post ; and, taking out his watch, he 
struck a match and looked at the hour. 

“ Too soon for her to commence operations yet. 
Perhaps she has no such intention ; but it will do no 
harm to watch.” And, proceeding to the village, he 
concealed himself where he could watch the approaches 
to Helen Harlow’s place of residence. ^ 


208 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


An hour or more had elapsed, when a figure so 
clothed that he could not tell whether it was a man’s or 
a woman’s approached stealthily. Granger’s heart 
beat high ; for it was he, as the reader must have 
already divined. Upon nearer approach, he perceived 
that the figure was masked. ‘‘ Not so deeply masked 
but your deviltry is discerned,” muttered he between 
his set teeth. 

Still closer came the figure. It was now so hidden 
by the shadow of the building, that only its outlines 
could be seen. A window is tried, one that leads 
into the kitchen ; and it is not fastened. Up, up, very 
slowly, till it has reached the height of about six inches. 
“ You are getting yourself into a nice trap,” thought 
the watcher. 

But no ; the figure does not enter the window : it is 
fastened open, however, by placing a little stick under 
it. ' Something is thrown into the room, and then a line 
attached to some light fabric pushed in after it. The 
watcher is trembling in every limb with the intensity 
of his excitement ; but he still restrained himself. This 
line was now carried along close to the side of the house 
for several feet, and ignited with a match. 

“ Devil ! ” muttered Granger to himself : “ what an 
exchange I made when I married you instead of 
Helen ! ” For he had no doubt, by this time, as to 
the identity of the figure. 

This done, the form walked perhaps twenty feet, in 
an unconcerned manner, away from the building, — far 
enough to enter the shadow of the next one, — and 
then made a quick, movement as if about to run ; but 
sprang suddenly back, threw up its hands, and uttered 


THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


209 


a suppressed scream, with the words, “ My God, 
Elda ! ” then, as if doubly frightened, it sped away with 
the swiftness of a deer. Granger, in the mean time, 
distinctly saw a figure in white glide along toward the 
raised window, and disappear directly under it. 

“ If I believed in ghosts, I should say that was one,” 
was his inward comment ; and then he proceeded to 
examine the train that had been laid. He extinguished 
the fire, gathered up the tarred line and put it into 
his pocket, but concluded to leave the balance of the 
preparation that had been made for the destruction of 
the building just as it was, that Helen might see for 
herself what had been done. Then he started for his 
horse ; but he had not proceeded more than half the 
distance, when a sound like an explosion caused him to 
turn hastily back. 

Mrs. Granger heard it too ; and, notwithstanding her 
fright at seeing what she took to be Elda Ransom’s 
ghost, she exulted in what she supposed to be the suc- 
cess of her plan. “ Nothing strange,” thought she, 
‘‘ that Elda Ransom’s ghost should watch Helen Har- 
low’s house. Like attracts like, it is said ; and we 
know that such as she can not find rest in heaven, if 
Mr. Gordon did preach such a splendid sermon over 
her remains.” But these reflections did not tend to 
check her speed in the least ; for she could not feel that 
she was safe till back within her tent. 

She reached it without interruption, and flattered 
herself that this time, at least, she had been successful. 
‘‘I don’t care what Mr. Granger or Mr. Reid may 
think : they have no proof.” 

A man who had failed in some undertaking once 

14 


210 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


said, “that if his forethoughts were as good as his 
afterthoughts, he could cheat the Devil ; ” and how 
certain it is, that, for want of the requisite knowledge, 
our “best-laid plans,” either for good or evil, fail 
just at the point where we are the most anxious for 
success ! Had Mrs. Granger carried out her plans 
twenty-four hours sooner, or had Helen been a little 
less tender-hearted, and refused to sit up at least half 
the night with Patrick Donahoe’s sick child, things 
would have gone far more to the liking of that revenge- 
ful personage than they did. 

Helen had taken Charles with her, intending to 
return about midnight or a little after. There was a 
little room off the kitchen, in which black Susan usually 
slept. Helen occupied the chamber over the kitchen. 
There were two beds in this chamber, with a half-parti- 
tion between ; and, when Charles was at home, he slept 
in one of these, and his mother in the other. 

The package thrown into the window when it was 
first raised was powder, which had a slow match at- 
tached to it also ; but it was prepared in such a man- 
ner that Granger had not discovered it. Indeed, he 
never thought of looking for more than one ; for he had 
not imagined a diabolism that could thus plan to be 
doubly sure. Black Susan was lying on the lounge in 
the front shop, having gone there and lain down with 
no intention of remaining ; but, sleep overtaking her, she 
was still there when the explosion took place. Conse- 
quently, there was no one injured personally, though 
there was considerable damage done to the house and 
furniture. 

The package had been planned with all the cunning 


THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


211 


of a fiend. Some tliree or four iron spikes were found 
scattered in different directions, — one passing up through 
the floor and lodging in Helen’s bed ; another tearing 
its way into Susan’s room ; and still another into the 
shop amongst the light material there. 

“ The Lord did it, that’s sartain,” said Susan. 

“ Did what, Susan ?” 

“ Sent Miss Helen and Master Charles away ; and 
made dis ole black body forget itsel’, and go to sleep on 
Miss Helen’s lounge. That am sure.” 

Helen and Charles were within a few feet of the 
house, on their way home from watching with the sick 
child, when the explosion took place ; consequently, 
were able to prevent the spread of the flames : other- 
wise, the house must have been consumed. 

Granger, when he came in sight, saw both Helen 
and Charles moving about, and others upon the spot, 
ready to render whatever assistance was needed. See- 
ing this, he retired without making his presence known ; 
for he did not wish Helen to know of his being in the 
vicinity. But, instead of returning directly to Albright, 
as he had first intended, he took the path that led to 
the mountain. 

He rode on till he came in sight of the place where 
the party from Albright were camped, and then dis- 
mounted for the purpose of reconnoitering. He had 
gone but a few steps when he saw his wife come from 
a thick cluster of bushes at the left, and enter the 
tent. He stopped short till she had disappeared within ; 
and then went directly to this clump of bushes, and 
began to search for the disguise she had worn an hour 
previous. He first struck a match, and glanced around 


212 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW, 


to see what he could discover ; and, finding a pine-knot 
filled with turpentine, he lit another match, and still 
another; and finally succeeded in setting the knot on 
fire. With this he searched the place thoroughly, and 
was at length rewarded by finding what he sought. 

It was now nearly two o’clock in the morning, and it 
would be impossible for him to reach Albright before 
the family were up. Reid was living some ten 
miles from Lakeside, and at least four miles from 
his direct route home ; but thither he resolved to go. 
He reached the place a little after daylight. Calling 
Reid up, for he had not yet risen, he told him all that 
had occurred, and asked his advice as to what course it 
was best to take. 

“ You can not expose her,” said Reid, “ because of 
your children.” 

“ I know,” said Granger, “ that they must be saved 
this disgrace if possible ; but how can I continue to live 
in the same house with such a demon ? ” 

“ It is a hard case, Ed, and I don’t know- what to ad- 
vise,” replied Reid thoughtfully. 

“ Have you seen Helen lately ? ” asked Granger. 

“ Not very lately : why ? ” 

“ Do you know any thing of the history of the girl who 
died there a year or two since ? ” 

“ Elda Ransom, do you mean ? ” 

“ Yes, that’s the name ; ” and Granger went on to ‘ 
relate the scene at Job Jenkins’s : and Reid, in turn, told 
him Elda’s story as he had heard it from Helen. 

“ Did you ever see her ? ” 

“ Once, in Boston, some years since. A friend pointed 
her out to me upon the street.” 


THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


213 


“ Describe her,” said Granger. Reid did so, adding, 
‘‘ She was very beautiful ; and I remember feeling sad 
at the thought of one so lovely living such a life.” 

“ I don’t wonder she was frightened.” 

Reid looked up inquiringly, and Granger related to 
him what he had seen. “ The very person you have 
described ; and I am certain she saw her ; for, if I am not 
very much mistaken, Elda is the name she called as she 
started back.” 

“ I didn’t know as you believed in ghosts, Ed.” 

“I cannot help believing what I see,” said Granger, 
a little annoyed by Reid’s tone. 

Reid made no reply to this ; and Granger continued, 
“ I don’t pretend to account for it. You may call it hal- 
lucination, or what you please ; but I saw what I have 
told you, and no amount of ridicule or argument can 
convince me to the contrary.” 

“ I do not dispute your word,” said Reid ; and then 
the conversation turned upon other topics. Granger 
tarried at Reid’s a while longer, and then rode to 
Albright, reaching his home about three hours before his 
wife did. 

The explosion at Helen’s created great excitement in 
the place ; and, before our tenters were fairly up, the 
news reached them. ‘‘ Who did it ? ” “ What was their 
object? ” &c., &c., were the questions that flew from lip 
to lip. 

“I am sure I do not know,” replied the boy who 
brought the news. “ I was out this way after the cows ; 
and, seeing your tent, I thought I would come and tell 
you.” ' 

“Was any one hurt ? ” asked Mrs. Granger. 


214 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ No, ma’am : but it is the greatest wonder that there 
wasn’t. If Miss Harlow had been at home, she must 
have been killed, sure.” 

“ Wasn’t she at home ? ” she asked, in a tone which 
indicated disappointment, in spite of herself. But the 
minds of the company were so occupied that no one 
noticed it except the boy ; and he, in speaking of it after- 
ward, said, “ The woman acted just as if she was sorry 
that Miss Harlow wasn’t there.” 

“No, ma’am: she and Mister Charles w^ere down at 
Irish Pat’s, looking after their sick child.” 

“ Was the house very much damaged ? ” she asked 
again. 

“ No, ma’am ; at least, not very much : but it would 
have burnt up, only Miss Harlow and Charles were just 
coming home, and they put out the fire.” 

“ Strange how things turn out ! ” thought she to her- 
self ; and then aloud, “ How fortunate ! It would have 
been a pity to have had her propert}^ destroyed. Let 
her get an honest living if she can.” 

“ But she would not have lost any thing,” said the lad, 
looking up quickly. “ It was all insured ; for I heard 
my father say so.” 

Mrs. Granger went back into the tent ; and I will 
leave the reader to judge if her feelings were to be 
envied. 

Mr. Granger was not at the house when his wife 
reached home. “ Where is your father ? ” she asked of 
Ward. 

“ He is out at the barn, I believe : he has just got 
home.” 

“ Just got home I Where has he been ? ” she asked, 
a great fear creeping into her mind. 


THE WICKEDNESS OF THE WICKED. 


215 


“ I don’t know. He went away yesterday, a while 
before night, and did not return till this afternoon.” 

Mrs. Granger turned, and went to her room ; and the 
first object that confronted her was the disguise she 
had worn the night before. She stared at the bundle 
a moment, as if to convince her own senses, and then 
fell prostrate, — really fainted, for the first time in her 


life 


When she had divested herself of her mask and outer 
garments, before entering the tent, she had hidden them 
in the place she had previously selected, with the inten- 
tion of getting them again the next day, and destroying 
them. But, finding it difficult to get away from the rest 
of the party long enough for that purpose, she had con- 
cluded to leave them where they were. The mountain 
was full of people from all parts of the country ; and, if 
they were found, no one would think of her putting 
them there. But to find them at home, and in her own 
room, was more than she was prepared for. 



216 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

WAR. A DISCOVERT. 

“ When, ’neath the dews of peace, 

The clusters grow and ripen : 

. "When of the coming war 
Rumors are heard to frighten; 

Or when, ’mid clashing steel. 

The winepress, trod by love alone, . 

Reaches the bridle-bits in blood, — 

Not then, not then the end. 

The final triumph is not yet; 

For it shall bring a world redeemed 
To deck love’s jeweled crown.” 

Love’s Triumph.— L. W. 

HE second year of Charles Harlow’s term 
at school passed even more pleasantly 
than the first ; ' and, at its close, Helen 
was desirous that he should enter college. 
But he said, “No, mother: I do not wish 
to spend years in studying dea^l languages, wlien there 
is so much in the living present to occupy the mind and 
heart. Let those who desire to enter the learned profes- 
sions occupy that field : I do not wish to.” 

“ What would you like to be, my son ? ” she asked. 

“ I would like to be an architect, if you please.” • 
Helen thought a while. “ It is not what I would 
choose for you ; but you will do better in a pursuit which 
you like than you can in any thing else.” 

“ You give your consent, then, mother ? ” 




WAR, — A DISCO VER Y. 


217 


“ Yes, my son : be an architect if you like.” 

“ Thank you, thank you, dear mother. Prof. 
Wright says that one had better be a good ditcher than 
a poor lawyer ; and I am sure that one can attain to 
eminence as an architect if he chooses.” And so the 
question was settled ; and Charles Harlow, or, more 
truly, Charles Edson Grranger, went to work with a will 
to perfect himself in the calling he had chosen. 

Four years passed quickly away ; and, at the age of 
twenty-two, Charles E. Harlow’s name was one to com- 
mand respect wherever it was known. A fine, manly 
form ; clear, blue eye ; high, open forehead ; health, 
strength, intellect ; an unblemished reputation, and ex- 
celling in whatever he undertook, — what more could 
any mother ask for her son ? 

There was no happier, prouder mother in Lakeside 
than Helen Harlow. The words of Isaiah, “ Thou 
shalt forget the shame of thy youth,” had been fulfilled 
in her case ; and she sometimes read the fifty-fourth 
chapter of that prophet, feeling as though it belonged 
especially to her. 

But triumph, in this world of change, is the twin- 
brother of trial. Not only the calm of national, but that 
of private life, was broken by the shrill tocsin of war; and, 
hearing it, the brave sprang with alacrity to arms. A 
blow had been struck at Sumter, and hundreds of thou- 
sands echoed the fierce defiance. 

Charles Harlow obtained a captain’s commission, and 
enlisted a full company from the youths of Lakeside 
and vicinity, without the least difficulty, — an entire com- 
pany made up of those of the ages from eighteen to 
twenty-five, and not a married man amongst them. 


218 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


The ladies of the place, in the mean time, prepared a 
fine flag to be presented to the company on the day of 
their departure ; and Helen, as mother of the captain, 
was chosen to give the presentation speech. The people 
had assembled to take their farewell look of brothers and 
sons. Fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers choked 
back their emotions, and strove to be brave, as Helen 
stepped forth, with one hand resting upon the flag, and 
the other upon her breast, and, raising her eyes to 
heaven, gave a short, appropriate, but unexpected invo- 
cation, and then, with a straightforward, common-sense 
speech, gave the flag into the keeping of the company. 

When she first stepped forth, a stranger, who was 
standing not far from Reid and his wife, started forward, 
and, gazing intently for a few moments, said, loud enough 
to be heard by those about him, — 

“ I am not mistaken : it’s the same.” 

When the presentation was over, this stranger stepped 
forth, and called the attention of the people. “ Friends,” 
said he, “I have a surprise in store for you, — one that 
will make this day long to be remembered by the citizens 
of Lakeside. I shall make no apology to the one whose 
incognito I am about to reveal ; for she has kept it a 
secret long enough, and the place of her residence has a 
right to the honor thereof. In the lady who has pre- 
sented the flag, behold ‘ Emendatore ’ ! ” 

There was a short silence, till the people could fully 
take in the meaning of what had been said ; and then 
the shout which filled the air caused Helen to retire, 
covered with the sweet confusion which comes of con- 
scious appreciation. 

“ Is it possible ? ” “ Who Would have thought it ? ” 


WA R. — A DISCO VER Y. 


219 


“I wonder we did not think of it before: it is so like 
her ! ” These and similar remarks flew from lip to lip 
as the company separated. 

“ How did you learn that Miss Harlow was ‘ Eraenda- 
tore ’ ? ” asked Reid of the stranojer. 

The gentleman looked up as if he had not heard 
aright ; and Mr. Reid repeated his question. 

“ Miss Harlow ! I thought she was Capt. Harlow’s 
mother?” 

“ So she is, sir ; and has made herself respected, in 
spite of her early misfortune.” 

“ Ah ! ” was the involuntary ejaculation ; and then, 
as if recollecting himself, “ You asked me how I learned 
that she was ‘ Emendatore.’ I saw her in Boston 
something over four years since, in the office of Blank 
& Co.’s publishing-house ; and hers is a face that, once 
seen, is not easily forgotten. I could not learn who she 
was, nor where she liyed ; but, when she arose to present 
that flag, I recognized her immediately.” 

“ But how did you know, sir, that we were ignorant 
of the fact that she was ‘ Emendatore ’ ? ” continued Reid. 

“ I found a copy of her work at Mrs. Sherwood’s ; and 
we were talking about it only last evening. I told aunt 
that I had seen the writer, and when, and where ; and 
she said that she would give any thing to know her.” 

Here the, lady in question came elbowing her way 
through the crowd, with, “ O James! I am so surprised I 
And yet I might have known it : it is just like Helen.” 

“ Mr. Reid, how do you do ? My nephew, Mr. How- 
ard, from Boston, Mr. Reid.” 

“ What would you give, aunt, to know ‘ Emenda- 
tore ’ ? ” replied that gentleman, laughing heartily. 


220 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ A prophet is not without honor ” — 

“ Till you know who they are, aunt,” interrupted 
Mr. Howard ; and, for answer, Mrs. Sherwood shook 
her finger at him with, — 

“ You naughty boy, to interrupt your old aunt in that 
manner ! ” 

They had drawn a little apart from the crowd ; and, 
as Reid looked up, he turned to his wife with “ Did 
you know that Granger was here ? ” 

“No: where is he?” 

“ Coming this way : there, don’t you see him ? ” 

The party exchanged glances, and looked toward 
Helen. The stranger noticed this, and turned to see the 
new comer. It was all clear : the resemblance between 
him and the young captain was sufficiently plain to 
show their relationship. 

“ Why, Ed, this is a surprise ! ” exclaimed Reid, 
grasping Granger’s hand as he came up. “ Mr. How- 
ard, Mr. Granger. By the way, surprises seem to be 
the order of the day : we have just learned who the 
author of ‘Trial and Triumph’ is.” 

“ Indeed ! ” was Granger’s only response. 

Reid, somewhat surprised at his tone, gave him a 
questioning look, and asked, “ Do you know ? ” 

“ I have known all along,” was the reply. 

“ You have ! ” 

“ Yes : there are passages in it that but one person 
could have written.” Reid made no response to this; 
and Granger, with the manner of one who felt that it 
was good to make an acknowledgment, continued, — 

“ She has made her vow good, Reid. ‘ Emendatore ’ 
stands higher than I do ; and Herbert enlisted yesterday 


WAR. —A DISCOVERY. 


221 


as a private, while Charles is captain of a company who 
are proud of their leader.” 

“ This war will try many a poor fellow’s mettle,” 
said Reid, wishing to change the subject. 

“ Yes ; and, were it not for my children, I should be 
only too glad to make my life of use to my country by 
losing it on the field of battle^” replied Granger. 

“ Poh, poh ! you are blue, Ed. It’s nonsense to talk 
in that way.” 

For reply. Granger turned and walked directly to 
where Charles was standing surrounded by friends, and, 
extending his hand, said, “ My son, will you take your 
father’s hand and a father’s blessing ? ” 

“ Certainly, father,” he replied, taking the proffered 
hand, though his looks showed some surprise. 

“ God bless you for that, my son,” continued Gran- 
ger, his emotion almost depriving him of the power of 
utterance. “ And now,” he added, “ if I never look 
upon your face again, I shall at least have the comfort 
of knowing that you think of me without bitterness. I 
would ask your forgiveness for the great wrong I have 
done you and your best of mothers ; but it would look 
like mockery in this your hour of triumph. Beside, 
I have wronged myself more.”- 

Then, turning to the company, he said, loud enough 
for all to hear, ‘‘ Boys, whatever else you do, heed 
the advice of one who knows of its bitterness, and 
never, never deceive the woman who loves and trusts 
you.” 

Helen was standing at a little distance, in company 
with Mr. and Mrs. Gordon and other friends. She 
could not well help hearing all that was said ; but the 


222 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


firmly-set lips and the pallor round the mouth showed 
that she felt keenly, though she did not even look to- 
ward the speaker. 

Neither did Granger even glance toward her; but, 
after his speech to the boys, he mounted his horse and 
rode rapidly away. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” said Reid : “his life has been a sad 
mistake.’’ 

“ What a fool ! ” said Mrs. Fitzhammer to her hus- 
band. “ From my heart I pity Cousin Ella.” 

“ So do I,” answered Reid ; for the lady had spoken 
loudly, on purpose for his ears : “so do I ; but not for 
any thing that Granger has done.” 

He was rewarded for this speech by a “ well-bred 
stare,” or “ a blank 8tare^' as he afterward said, as he 
referred derisively to “ Noodle’s glance of anni- 
hilation.” 

Mrs. Grant was really horrified. “ She couldn’t see 
what this world was coming to ; ” but, with these ex- 
ceptions, every one present sympathized with Helen, 
and was proud of her success. 

But, in the midst of life, the change called death 
overtakes us, and triumph only strengthens the soul for 
mightier struggles. H*elen had educated her boy, 
trained him both morally and intellectually to honor- 
able manhood ; and she had maintained her own self- 
respect in such a manner as to be, by her example, a 
blessing to the unfortunate of her own sex : but now 
that son was going from her, not to the peaceful avoca- 
tions of life, but to fields where death held high 
carnival. 

Would he return unharmed ? Should she ever look 


WAR.— A DISCOVERY. 


223 


upon his face again ? These were the questions that 
would torture her when waking, while, during the 
hours of sleep, horrid visions of mangled limbs and 
dyings groans came to haunt her. 

She bore it a few months, and then the little shop 
was closed ; while another name was added to the grand 
army of nurses, who, though not half as well remu- 
nerated, did more than doctor or priest in saving the 
lives of our brave boys. 

“ I was not brave enough,” she wrote to Mr. and 
Mrs. Gordon, “ to stay at home and bear the terrible 
suspense of such weary days : I must have the excite- 
ment which fills both hands and heart, or I should die. 
God pity those who are forced to live a life of inactive 
waiting ! for they are the bravest of the brave, the real 
sufferers, the greatest heroes of all.” 

“ But I am gathering materials, Mr. Gordon, that 
will help me to decide some of those questions of vital 
import, of which we have several times spoken, still 
deferring their discussion to some future period. And 
when sweet peace broods over us again, if we are both 
spared, I think that I shall be ready for the question.” 



224 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


f 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A BROKEN SPIRIT. DEATH. 


“ There is a repentance not to be repented of; and there is a repentance which 
wounds to slay.” 

HE noise of Mrs. Granger’s fall brought 
Margy, the Irish girl, to the door ; but 
the white face of her mistress had less 
terror for her than “ the horrid-looking 
thing, — the Div’l’s own face,” upon the 
ossing herself, with a “ Howly St. Pat- 
rick ! ” she ran screaming out of the house. 

Her outcries, coupled with the children’s, soon 
brought Mr. Granger to the scene of action. 

“ What is the matter, Margy ? ” he asked. 

“ An’ shure, yer honor, it’s the Div’l’s own sel’ that’s 
in the mistress’s room ; and he has kilt her intirely,” she 
replied. 

“ Nonsense ! it’s only a mask. I thought she had 
sense enough not to be frightened at it,” said he, as 
he made his way toward the room. 

“ And is it yersel’ that’s put the horrid thing there, 
yfe wicked man ? ” said Margy, her terror changing to 
indignation. 

He quieted the children by telling them there was 
nothing to be frightened at ; then entered the room 



A BROKEN SPIRIT,^ DEATH. 


225 


where Mrs. Granger was lying, and, closing the door 
behind him, turned the key in the lock. 

“ I’m not so share of it, indade,” muttered the girl, 
shaking her head, as he disappeared through the door. 

Mrs. Granger had partially recovered ; but, at the 
sight of her husband, she sank away again. He looked 
at her with a stern, hard expression upon his features, 
quietly removed the offending bundle, together with the 
mask, from sight, and then, lifting the prostrate woman, 
placed her upon the bed. The movement caused her 
to open her eyes ; but she closed them again with a long, 
shuddering sigh. 

He left her, and, going to the kitchen, said, “ Margy, 
make your mistress a good cup of tea, and keep the 
children from the room. She is tired out with her long 
ride.” 

“ Indade, an’ I’d think she would be, trampin’ them 
hills like a hathen,” responded the girl, as she turned 
to do as she was bid. 

This done, he returned to the room. Mrs. Granger 
had fully recovered her consciousness, but was lying 
where he had left her. She turned her eyes upon him 
with a half-entreating, half-defiant look. 

“ Did you sup[)Ose, madam, that we had watched you 
so long to be cheated at last ? ” 

“ We? ” she questioned, starting up. 

“ Yes, Reid and myself.” 

She sank back upon her pillow in silence : but hers 
was a brave spirit, — one worthy of a better cause ; and 
she would not so readily yield. “ Which one was it,” 
thought she, “ that watched this time ? ” Deciding that 
it was Granger, she said, — 

15 


226 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ It is an easy thing for you to divide the responsibil- 
ity with Reid ; but you know, sir, why you were there, 
and what I have borne for years ; and ’’ — 

“ Ella ! ” He uttered this single word in tones that 
made her quail ; but still she would not yield. 

“ If I have been driven to desperation, could the 
public know all, they would not blame me.” 

“ You will have a chance to test the sympathy of the 
public, madam, unless you manifest a different spirit from 
this,” 

“ And what do you suppose people would think of 
your being there at the midnight hour? ” 

“ I do not care what they would think, madam. I 
followed the channel of public opinion once to my sor- 
row.” 

She looked up as if not quite comprehending him. 

“ That which winks at the crime of deceiving and 
forsaking a young and trusting girl,” he continued. 

“ Fudge ! A woman who can not take care of herself 
ought to sink.” 

“ But you see that she has not ; that she has tri- 
umphed in spite of you and me both.” 

“ A great deal you have done to prevent it ! ” said 
she bitterly. 

“ I took the first step ; and you have done the rest, 
or have tried to.” 

‘‘ Why did you not marry her ? I wish you had.” 

“Because of public opinion, as I have told youj 
and it is the very sentiment you have just uttered, 
Ella, which has made your trouble, and mine too.” 

“ To what sentiment do you refer?” she asked, for- 
getful of what she had just said. 


A BROKEN SPIRIT. — DEATH. 


227 


“ That a woman who can not take care of herself 
ought to sink.” 

‘‘ I don’t see what that has had to do with it. 

“ Simply this : it is a tacit license for men to do their 
utmost toward ruining woman. Acting under the sane- 
tion of this perverted sentiment, I first won Helen, — 
won her when she was a mere child as yet ; and then 
cast her off because it is considered a disgrace to a man 
to marry one who has yielded all.” 

“ But wliat has that to 'do with me? ” 

“ Simply this, Ella : I married you, loving her ; and, 
feeling this, you have hated her intensely, — hated her 
only as one woman can hate another. I had no right to 
marry you, not loving you. I perjured myself at the 
altar, and did you an irreparable wrong ; for, had I not 
done so, you might have found some one that you could 
have been happy with.” 

There was something in all this so different from 
what she had expected, that she did not know how to 
reply. It called up the time when she had known 
what it was to love, — when she was not quite the 
heartless woman of the world as when pride had led 
her to accept the handsome and talented Mr. Granger ; 
and she began to weep. 

“ Tears will do no good,” said he, resuming the 
sternness that he had unconsciously dropped while 
dwelling upon the past. “ You did not love me any 
more than I did you ; so we are even there. Still, you 
might have found some one that you did love, had I not 
tempted your love of distinction by offering myself. 

‘‘This thought, together with regard for my children, 
will keep me silent, provided you never make another 


HELEN HARLOW* S VOW. 


i£28 

attempt of the kind ; but, madam, you and I can never 
live together again as husband and wife.” 

She started to her feet. “ A great deal you care for 
the children, to disgrace them in such a manner ! ” she 
exclaimed. 

“ There need be no disgrace, Mrs. Granger,” — how 
he shrank from giving her that title ! — there need be no 
disgrace. Before the public, you will still hold the posi- 
tion that you have hitherto. We will have a second 
bed put up in this room, and the children themselves 
need not necessarily understand the real state of things. 
But you madam, will understand it, will remember 
that I shall suffer no word of dictation or blame, in any 
manner whatever ; ” and, with these words, he left her to 
her own thoughts. 

As he passed from the room, he found Margy at the 
door. “ It seems to me,” said he, “ that you have been 
a long time in doing what I told you.” 

“ Indade, sir, an’ it’s all ready ; but I was waitin’ for 
yersel’ to come out : didn’t think ’twas manners to go 
before.” 

“Well, hurry along now, then.” The fact was, 
Margy had been listening ; and she muttered to herself, 
as she hurried away, “ Guess I’d live wid a man that 
wouldn’t slape wid me ! indade, an’ indade ! ” 

Mrs. Granger had sustained herself as well as she 
could in her husband’s presence ; but, as soon as he was 
gone, her spirits fell to the zero point. What was there 
left to her now but submission to fate? and, to one of her 
disposition, this was like a living death. 

“ Go away, Margy,” she said, as the girl entered the 
room with a cup of tea and a nicQ piece of toast. “ I 
ean not eat now : I am sick.” 


A BROKEN SPIRIT. — DEATH. 


229 


“ Shure, and the master told me to bring it,” replied 
Margy in an injured tone. 

“ All right, Margy ; but I can not eat any thing at 
present. You can have it yourself, if you like.” 

“ Quare doings here, indade, an’ indade ! master 
scarin’ mistress with them outlandish fixins, and scoldin’ 
her till death mostly, an’ then orderin’ good things for 
her that she can’t tech, poor thing ! I’m thinkin’ that 
Margy M‘Pherson had better be gettin’ out’n this. I’ll 
ask the praste about it, ennyhow.” So saying, the girl 
sat down with a hearty relish to her toast and tea. 

From this time forth, Mrs. Granger was a changed 
woman. She seldom went into company ; and, when she 
did, the life and vivacity of other days was gone ; and 
at home there was the listlessness of defeat in every 
movement. People wondered for a while, and made va- 
rious surmises as to the cause ; but, finding no solution 
to their queries, they were soon forgotten in some new 
excitement. 

Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Pitzhammer were still her 
friends ; but they tried in vain to penetrate the secret of 
her condition. The doctors said “ that she was going into 
a decline,” because they did not know what else to say ; 
and, finally, it became the settled conviction of the peo- 
ple, that Mrs. Granger would never be any better. As 
her ill health dated from that trip on the mountain, it 
was sagely concluded that she had overdone and 
cauoht cold at that time. 

“ Overdone ; ” and so she had, but in a way they little 
dreamed of. At times the old spirit would flash up ; and 
then the struggle within would give her a wildness of 
manner that caused people to hint at “ mental aberra- 


230 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


tion.” “ It was not an unusual thing,” the old ladies 
said, “ for one in her state of health to be deranged at 
times. And, besides, it ran in the family : her great 
grandfather’s brother. Major Ward, had died insane.” 

Thus people accounted for things in their own way, 
and were left to their own conclusions. 

She had continued to sink from year to year ; and, 
when the war broke out, her condition was such that 
she seldom left her room. 

Herbert’s course at school had not been the most 
creditable one ; and, when his mother was told that he 
had enlisted as a private, she only said, “ Just like his 
father; not a particle of pride about him: a Ward 
would have gone as an officer, or not at all.” 

Mrs. Fitzhammer and Mrs. Grant, shocked as they 
had been at the course taken by Granger on the day of 
the flag presentation, could not rest till they had laid 
the whole matter before his wife. They forgot the con- 
dition of *the sick woman, in their desire to create a sen# 
sation ; so, on the next day, they made their way to 
Albright. 

“ How do you do, my dear cousin ? ” said Mrs. Fitz- 
hammer, in that peculiarly pitying tone which is so 
offensive to a proud spirit. 

Mrs. Granger’s eyes flashed, but the emotion went no 
further. “ About as usual, 1 believe,” she replied, in 
even apathetic tones. 

“ And — what do you ^ink ? ” continued this female 
tormentor. “ Oh ! I shall never take any interest in a 
story after this.” 

“ I should laugh to see you lose your interest in fic- 
tion,” said Mrs. Granger, with something of her old 
manner. 


A BROKEN SPIRIT. — DEATH. 


231 


“ Oh ! but you won’t, Cousin Ella, when I have told 
you all ; for I shall always be thinking what kind of 
characters it is that write them. Only think of the hyp- 
ocrite keeping it to herself so long ! ” 

“ I always told you so,” said Mrs. Grant. “ She can 
liide any thing if she undertakes to ; but she can’t make 
a fool of me.” 

“ No ; for the Lord has got the start of her,” said 
Granger in an under-tone, hearing the remark as he 
passed the window. 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Mrs. Granger, look- 
ing from one to the other. 

“ Don’t let the news shock you too much, my dear 
friend,” said Mrs. Grant ; “ but we have learned posi- 
tively that that creature, Helen Harlow, is ‘ Emenda- 
tore.’ ” 

Mrs. Granger sank back upon her pillow without a 
word ; but the new Irish girl, who came into the room 
at that moment, opened her eyes very wide ; and, as she 
went out again, she was heard to say, — 

“ Mend-a-tore ; an’ shure, it’s a quare name for a 
Christian woman ! ” 

All three heard it ; and Mrs. Granger smiled in spite 
of the sadness which oppressed her, while Mrs. Grant 
and Mrs. Fitzhammer laughed till they could scarcely 
breathe. “ Not so bad, after all,” said Mrs. Grant, as 
soon as she could speak. “ She tore her reputation 
years ago, and has been trying to mend it ever since.” 

At this, “ Noodle,” as Granger called her, went off 
again in another perfect paroxysm of laughter. 

“ Come, Add, don’t kill yourself,” said Mrs. Granger 
at length. 


232 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


This brought the lady back to a condition of sobriety. 
For a few minutes there was silence ; and then Mrs. 
Grant, with a long drawn-sigh, resumed the conversa- 
tion. 

“ But I have not told you all the news, my dear 
friend ; neither would I, but I think you ought to know. 
Oh, dear ! this is a wicked world ! ” 

Mrs. Granger opened her eyes with a show of in- 
terest, and Mrs. Grant continued. “ Your husband, my 
dear friend, was at Lakeside yesterday ; and what do you 
think he did ? I should die, I know I should, if it was 
my husband. He actually called Charles Harlow his 
son before all the people.’’ 

“He did!” shrieked Mrs. Granger, starting to her 
feet. 

“ Don’t, don’t, Ella I don’t take it so hard : you will 
make yourself sick,” said Mrs. Fitzhammer. 

“ It’s enough to make anybody feel,” said Mrs. 
Grant. “ And their gathering around that fellow, and 
calling him ‘ Captain ’ all so grand I ” 

“ Calling who ‘ Captain ’ ? ” asked Mrs. Granger. 

“ Why, Charles Harlow. He has raised a company, 
got a captain’s commission, and is off to the war. But 
the Lakeside folks, — fools I had liked to have called 
them, only it would not be right, you know, — well, the 
ladies of Lakeside, they gave the company a splendid 
flag, and chose Helen, as the captain’s mother, to pre- 
sent it.” 

The thought of her own son enlisting as a private 
came up in contrast with what she had just heard ; and 
the tortured woman sank back with a groan. 

“ Don’t, now,” said Mrs. Grant: “ don’t fret. You 


A BROKEN SPIRIT. — DEATH. 


233 


will kill yourself, poor dear, and then what will become 
of your children ? ” 

“ No, I will not die : I will throw off this incubus 
that has held me so long, and live to torment him. He 
would be only too glad to bury me, that he might marry 
that creature ; but he never shall ! ” And Mrs. Granger 
arose from her bed, and, dressing herself with care, went 
to the table that evening, the first time for months. 

Mr. Granger looked* at her inquiringly as she came 
in, bowed to the ladies, and ate his meal in -silence ; 
but Bridget stared as though she had seen a ghost. 

“ That is right. Cousin Ella,” said Mrs. Fitzhammer, 
as they returned to the sitting-room : “ there is the true 
Ward grit in you yet. But you must not tire yourself 
too much, or you will not hold out. Here, lie down on 
this sofa.” 

“ I do not wish to lie down, neither do I wish to be 
insulted further with your sympathy, Addie Fitzham- 
mer,” was the curt reply. That personage was silent ; 
and Mrs. Grant looked toward her and smiled, as if to 
say, “ She will do well enough so long as she keeps her 
spunk up.” 

This condition of things continued for several days : 
but the strain was too great ; and, when the re-action 
came, she sank lower than ever, took to her bed, and 
never left it but for the grave. True, she lingered for a 
few months ; for she was constitutionally what is called 
tenacious of life. Her frame did not readily yield to 
disease : but she was too broken in spirit to sustain her- 
self as she could otherwise have done ; and the very day 
on which Helen left Lakeside, the unhappy woman 
breathed her last. 


234 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


Let US not condemn her too severely ; for she was 
sinned against, as well as sinning : but let us rather 
turn our attention to the causes which produce results 
so much to be deplored. We may say that we can not 
reach to remove them. But are we certain of this ? 
Humanity has not yet learned the half of its powers ; 
and “ can not ” ought not to belong to the vocabulary of 
a progressive people. 


IN THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN^S PROTECTORS. 235 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN^S PROTECTORS. 

“ Our Btrong protectors they, if we from them will hut protect ourselves : 
if not, then we may sink, thrust hY protecting hands beyond the pale of hope.” 

^ was in her fortieth year : still, the 
of people would not have called her 
thirty-five ; and some insisted that 
ould not be more than thirty. But 
who lay upon those cots of suffer- 
ing cared not whether she was thirty or fifty. If they 
could but feel her soft hand upon their aching brow’s, or 
listen to her musical tones as she read to them from 
time to time, to while the tedious hours away, they were 
satisfied. 

For three months she had been the nurse and valued 
assistant at Hospital B., in the vicinity of Washington ; 
and, in that time, many a poor soldier had been made 
more comfortable through her care, and not a few owed 
their lives to her patient skill. The common soldier or 
the wounded officer blessed her very shadow as it 
passed ; but, whilst those in charge could hardly afford 
to dispense with her services, they did not like her. 

The fact was, she was not humble, not deferential 
enough. She met them too much like an equal ; and 
was, at the same time, so faithful in her duties, that they 




236 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


could find no cause of complaint. The physician in 
Helen’s department was a gentleman of fine personal 
appearance, who seemed to think himself quite irresist- 
ible ; and, fixing his eye upon her when she first came, 
seemed determined to make her the object of his especial 
regards. 

But her ideas of the duties of a nurse and his seemed 
to differ somewhat ; and she ignored him so thoroughly 
at this point of difference, that he could not even prefer 
his claims. 

This, of course, annoyed him exceedingly. Herbert 
Granger was among the wounded ; and Helen paid par- 
ticular attention to his wants, devoting her spare mo- 
ments to him, as far as possible. He had no idea that she 
was Charles Harlow’s mother, and once expressed his 
wonder that she should be so kind, — should take such 
an interest in a “ scapegrace ” like him. 

She smiled in reply, and said, “ I knew your parents 
once, and wish to do all I can for their boy.” 

“ When, where, Miss Harlow ? ” he asked eagerly. 

“ Not since you can recollect ; at least, I have known 
but little of them since : so don’t bother your head about 
it, but lie still and get well.” 

“ Miss Harlow, I wish you would tell me all you 
know ; for I am so hungry for home.!’ 

“ Well, here is a letter: read that, while I go and 
make some gruel for that poor fellow in the next ward ; ” 
and, handing him a letter that had come that morning, 
she left him to its perusal. 

When she returned, about an hour afterward, she 
found him weeping bitterly. She did not speak, but 
went and placed her hand upon his head, soothing him 


THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN’S PROTECTORS. 237 


as she would a weary child ; knowing, that, if it was any 
thing that he wished her to know, he would tell her of 
his own accord. 

With a child’s abandon of grief, he caught her hand 
to his lips, and kissed it, sobbing, “ O Miss Harlow ! I 
have no mother now.” 

“ Your mother dead ! ” exclaimed Helen, manifesting 
more feeling than she was aware. 

But Herbert was too much absorbed in his own grief 
to notice this. “ Yes, Miss Harlow : she has gone. Oh ! 
what a wretch I was to enlist and leave her, when her 
health was so poor ! ” 

Helen was so shocked, that she did not speak again for 
some minutes ; and, when she did, it was to inquire about 
the particulars. 

“ Here is the letter,” said he : “ read it for yourself. 
I can not tell you about it.” 

Herbert was occupying a single room, parted off from 
the others ; but the curtain that served as a door was 
put back, leaving the entire room open to the passer-by. 
The doctor had started on his rounds, and, stopping just 
out of range from those within, had seen and heard all. 

As Helen came out of the door, he confronted her 
with “ Miss Harlow, if you manifest your preference so 
openly, I fear that the rest of the boys will be jealous ; ” 
accompanying the words with a look which showed that 
he would like to become her protector. 

She looked up to see wliat he wished, as he com- 
menced speaking; but, gathering the import of his 
words, passed on without further notice of his insult. 
That afternoon, as she was passing by where some fresh 
arrivals were lying, the word “ Mother I ” arrested her 


238 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


steps ; and the next moment she was locked in the arms 
of her son. 

After the first greetings were over, Helen drew back, 
and looked questioningly upon his pale face. 

“ Only a scratch, mother, and I shall soon be up 
again ; but, if those rascally surgeons had had their way, 
I should have been a cripple for life.” 

Just here, orders came to remove “ private ” Granger 
to another part of the building, and to put Major Harlow 
in his place. Helen turned quickly : she thought, at 
first, that she would oppose the arrangement ; but, re- 
membering the doctor’s look and tone, she simply said, 
“ Please don’t let Mr. Granger know who is to occupy 
his place.” 

Charles looked up. “ It is Herbert,” she replied ; and 
there was no further remark. 

“ Do I hear aright. Miss Harlow ? ” asked the doctor, 
the next time he met her. 

“ What have you heard ? ” she asked. 

“ That you are Major Harlow’s mother.” 

“ I am, sir.” 

“ As young looking and as handsome as you are ! 
And here you have been making us believe that you 
were a young lady, all this time,” said he, with the most 
winning smile at his command. 

“ I told you my name was Helen Harlow, sir : the 
prefix has been of your own choosing,” she replied ; and 
then, seeing the address of a letter lying on a table be- 
fore him, she added, “ I should like to have a talk with 
you, doctor, when I am a little more at leisure.” 

“ With pleasure, madam ; with the utmost pleasure. 
Come here at any time after three o’clock,” 


THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN *S PROTECTORS. 239 

“ Coming around at last,’’ he soliloquized ; while 
Helen to herself, “ He little thinks what I have to say to 
him ! ” 

It was about four in the afternoon before Helen 
. knocked at the doctor’s door. She came for directions 
and medicines, but took the time to ask the questions 
she wished. 

The gentleman hastened to offer her a seat ; but she 
negatived the movement with her hand, and said, “ I 
saw a letter upon your table, this morning, addressed to 
the Hon. Charles Edson, Ross Cove, Me. Are you a 
relative of his, sir? ” 

“ I have the honor to be his son,” was the somewhat 
pompous answer. 

“ Are you a son of his last marriage ? ” she continued. 

“ I am the oldest son of that marriage, madam. Are 
you acquainted with my father ? ” he asked, manifesting 
some surprise. 

“ Your mother and mine were sisters.^’ 

“ It is not possible ! ” he exclaimed, in astonishment. 

“ I have suspected it,” she replied. “ It is not only 
possible, but true, Df*. Edson.” 

“ And you have known this all along ? Why, my 
fair cousin, I never dreamed of such a thing. But 
why have I been kept in ignorance of this ? I did not 
know that my mother ever had a sister who married a 
Harlow.” 

Without noticing his last question, Helen continued, 
“ You accused me, this morning, of partiality for Mr. 
Granger : know, then, that that young man stands in the 
same relation to me as you would to my mother if she 
were living, — the son of the man who betrayed me, and 
my son’s half-brother.” 


240 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


The doctor staggered as though under' a heavy blow. 
“ You do not mean — you are not my sister ! ” 

“ Your cousin and your half-sister, sir.” 

“ Well, I do recollect now, that my father once, in a 
fit of repentance, just after my mother’s death, told me 
something of this ; but he did not inform me that the 
girl he talked so pathetically of betraying was my 
mother’s sister.” 

Helen noticed his tone, and added, “ And you prom- 
ised him, that, if he would bring me home, you would 
receive me as a sister.” 

“ W ell, yes, — I believe there was something of the 
sort said,” he answered ; “ for, having no sister, the 
idea rather pleased us.” 

“ Well, Dr. Edson, you need have no fears of my 
claiming relationship: that is not ihy purpose at all. I 
thought, however, that I would protect myself from 
your impertinence by informing you of the fact; for I 
hardly believe you bad enough to persecute a sister, 
knowing her to be such.” 

The manner in which Helen said this irritated the doc- 
tor so much that he retorted, “ Had you always been as 
careful to protect yourself. Miss Harlow, it would have 
been well ; but ‘ Like mother, like daughter ’ seems to 
have been true in this case.” 

Helen was about leaving the room ; but at this she 
turned and gave the gentleman a look that he was not 
to forget soon. 

“ What about ‘ Like father, like son,’ Dr. Edson ? 
My mother never pressed the lips of any man but your 
father : did he live as purely ? I have lived as my 
mother did, true to the last : are you as much like your 
father ? ” 


THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN *S PROTECTORS. 241 


There was a withering scorn in her tones, which made 
the bold man quail, in spite of his efforts to maintain his 
dignity. “ My father is a man who is respected wher- 
ever he is known,” he said. 

“ And so is my father, sir ; but that does not prove 
that he always behaved in a respectable manner, or 
that his son has improved upon his example,” she re- 
plied. “ And now, sir, I forbid you, from this time 
forth, to speak to me, or to recognize me in any manner 
whatever, further than your profession demands ; ” and, 
before he could reply, she was gone. 

“ My God ! ” he muttered, as he gazed after her re- 
treating form : “a woman like that is worth possessing ; 
and the man who cast her off is a fool.” 

Helen went directly from the doctor’s office to Charles. 

“ Mother,” said he, “ what is it that annoys you ? ” 

“ Nothing very much, my son : why do you ask ? ” 

“ Because I wish to know, of course.” 

“ Nothing ; only that Dr. Edson is from Ross Cove, 
Maine, and my half-brother.” 

“ Mother ! ” and Charles Harlow raised himself up 
on his elbow. 

“There, lie down now, and behave yourself, you 
naughty boy,” said she, as she playfully boxed his ears. 

“ But how did you learn it? You did not claim him 
as a relative, mother ? ” 

“ Does not my boy know me better than that ? I as- 
serted the fact, but repudiated the relation.” 

“ Repudiated it ? ” 

“ Yes : I forbade him to recognize me in any manner 
whatever, other than our relative positions here profes- 
sionally render necessary.” 

16 


242 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ Why did you do that, mother ? ” ^ , 

“ Because the man would think that he was stooping, 
was conferring an honor., by acknowledging me as his 
sister : and you know, my son, that your mother never 
accepts such recognition from any one, man or woman ; 
never has, and never will.” 

“ I should like to meet the man, or woman either, 
who could confer a greater honor than they received by 
recognizing my mother,” said Charles proudly. 

“ Dis way, massa, dis way,” said the obsequious dar- 
key, as he conducted a gentleman toward the door of 
the room occupied by Helen and Charles; “right in 
dar ; and the lady is wid him : ” and they turned to meet 
Mr. Gordon. 

“ Helen, you here ! God bless you ! Major Harlow, 
allow me to congratulate you ; not on your wound, but 
your promotion,” said he, extending a hand to both. 

“ Promotion over the grave of a worthier man,” 
replied Charles, with tears in his eyes. 

“ Who ? ” asked Helen. 

“ Major Wright, a brother of Prof. Wright of Spring- 
ville ; and a nobler fellow never lived.” 

“Have you seen Herbert Granger, Mr. Gordon?” 
said Helen. 

“ No : I have just arrived. Who is he ? a son of Mr. 
Granger’s of Albright? ” 

“ He is. Please don’t let him know who Charles is, as 
it might fret him in his present state. The poor fellow 
is mourning over the death of his mother ; and that is 
as much as he ought to bear at once.” 

“ Have you seen him, Helen ? ” asked Mr. Gordon. 

“ Yes : but he does not know who I am ; and I don’t 
want him to learn, so long as I can prevent it.” 


THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN’S PROTECTORS. 243 


Just here Dr. Edson came in, ostensibly to see how 

Major Harlow ” was getting along ; but really to test 
Helen’s temper a little further. In a moment, Helen 
was simply the nurse. 

“ Dr. Edson, Mr. Gordon,” said Charles with cool 
politeness. The doctor made a slight examination of 
Charles’s wound, looked at his tongue, felt his pulse, and 
then gave Helen some simple directions, taking particu- 
lar pains to call her “ Miss Harlow.” Charles noticed 
this, and so did Mr. Gordon ; and were aware, from the 
doctor’s manner, that it was done on purpose. 

Charles’s eye flashed ; but, restraining himself, he 
ignored the intended insult by saying, “ Mother, dear, 
I am thirsty : will you hand me some water? ” 

But Mr. Gordon followed him from the room ; and, as 
soon as they were beyond the hearing of the others, 
said, “ Doctor, I have been acquainted with that lady, 
Major Harlow’s mother, for years ; and any rudeness to 
her will be looked upon as done to myself.” 

The doctor stared. “ I was not aware that it was 
rude to call a woman by her right name,” he said. 

“ It was not the matter, sir, hut the manner of your 
address that was offensive,” replied Mr. Gordon. 

“ And pray, sir, who are you, that you defend the 
lady so valiantly ? ” asked the doctor coolly. 

One who knows her father, and yours too, young 
man.” 

“ And her son’^ father also, I presume,” said Edson, 
white with rage ; for to be told that Helen was his sister 
twice in one day, and that after his course toward her, 
was more than he knew how to bear. 

“ I do, sir ; and, if he was here, he would knock you 
down for your impudence,” replied Mr. Gordon. 


244 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


“ Perhaps you had better do it yourself, sir.” 

“ No, Dr. Edson ; my profession as a minister does 
not permit of such an act : but I will confess that the 
♦ old Adam is so strong within me, at times, that I can 
hardly restrain myself ; ” and, turning abruptly away, he 
went* back to the room occupied by Charles and his 
mother. 

“ Do you know who that man is, Helen ? ” he 
asked. 

“ I do, Mr. Gordon ; but have refused to recognize 
him, or to be recognized by him.” 

Mr. Gordon looked at her keenly. “ As strong to 
assert yourself as ever, I see,” he said at length. ‘‘ I 
felt like knocking the fellow down, and would have done 
so but for the name of it ; but I guess you will take care 
of him without my help.” 

Charles laughed aloud. “ A pretty confession that, 
for a minister, Mr. Gordon ! ” 

“ I know it, major ; but, since this war commenced, 
I sometimes feel as if I was losing my identity, — as if 
I was not half as much a minister as before.” 

“ I think we are all learning lessons,” remarked 
Helen. 

“ I wish, Mr. Gordon,” said Charles presently, 
“ that you would go and see Herbert Granger.” 

“ I will : where is he ? ” Helen led the way. 

“ Mr. Granger, here is a gentleman who knows your 
family, — the Rev. Mr. Gordon, from Glencove, New 
Hampshire ; ” and, saying this, she left them together. 

Mr. Gordon grasped the young man’s hand. 
“ Happy to' meet you, Mr. Granger : have never had 
the pleasure of your acquaintance, but knew your par^ 
ents well.” 


THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN *S PROTECTORS. 245 


Herbert barely responded, and, looking after Helen, 
asked, “ Do you know, Mr. Gordon, if Major Harlow 
is the Charles Harlow from Lakeside who attended 
school at Springville some years since?” 

Mr. Gordon was taken by surprise, and could not 
well avoid answering in the affirmative. 

“ And the lady who has just left us is his mother ? ” 
continued Granger. 

“She is,” was the reply. 

Granger turned away with a groan. Presently he 
looked up. “ You may think I am wicked, Mr. Gordon. 
I suppose I am ; but my mother is dead, and I wish that 
I was too.^’ 

“ Fie, fie, young man ! You are sick now, and de- 
pressed. You will soon get over this, and enjoy life 
yet.” 

“ My mother sick and dying,” he continued, without 
noticing Mr. Gordon’s remarks, “ and I to be receiving 
the attention of her enemy, — the woman who made her 
life bitter ! ” 

“ If you think that Miss Harlow ever did any thing 
to make your mother unhappy, you are mistaken,” 
said the minister in his kindest tones ; for he really pitied 
the ypung man. 

Herbert was silent, and Mr. Gordon continued : “ Your 
father forsook Hiss Harlow, and married your mother,— 
a very great wrgng, but one that his children are not to 
blame for. After his marriage, your father never saw 
Miss Harlow till her son was sixteen years of age, — the 
time when she was taking him to Springville to school.” 

“Do you know this to be true ? ” asked Herbert at 
length. 


246 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


“ If I did not, I would not say so, Mr. Granger.” 

“ It may be true, but my mother did not think so, 
sir ; and then to have her son coming here and taking 
my room as Major Harlow, while my mother’s son 
must give place because he is only a poor private! 
But what am I saying, sir ? I have not my mother’s 
pride, or I should not be telling this to you ; ” and, turn- 
ing abruptly away, lie could not be induced to say any 
thing further. 

Mr. Gordon was grieved, and so was Helen : but it 
was the Ward pride, the Ward hatred, that had been 
aroused ; and all efforts at a friendly feeling on the 
part of either Helen or Charles were rejected with 
scorn. 

He did, it is true, accept Helen’s attentions till he was 
able to wait upon himself ; but he accepted them as 
from a servant, never once acknowledging his obligation 
by either word or look. 

He did not seem to care whether he lived or died ; 
but, when he found that he was really recovering, he 
was only anxious to get away from the place. 

“ Let him go,” said Charles : it is his nature, and 
he must act it out.” But Helen sighed, and wished that 
it were otherwise. 

Dr. Edson, finding that Helen would not be friendly 
with him, continued his petty annoyances ; till, one 
day, he found himself quietly remo^•k‘d, and another 
taking his place. 

He never knew exactly how this came about; but 
his curses, if not loud, were deep. But Dr. Edson was 
not an exception : those who were like him were found 
in every department of army-life; and those women 


THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN'S PROTECTORS. 247 


who went to care for the suffering soldier found but too 
often, if they would not accept the kind of protection 
that those in power desired to bestow, that their places 
would be given to those who would. 

Helen’s experience with the doctor was but one of 
the.many lessons that she learned of human nature and 
its workings, during the time that she acted as nurse ; 
and, when she returned home, she was often heard to 
say, “ Give woman the power to protect herself, and 
teach her that she must do it : but mock her no longer 
with the idea that she has a protector in man ; at least, 
not while she is thought to be his legitimate prey, if he 
is strong enough, psychologically, to overcome her 
reason or control her judgment.” 

There is one more incident that I will relate before I 
leave this part of my story. Tliere was a Capt. Gil- 
bert in the hospital for a while, who, not being sufficient- 
ly recovered from an ugly wound in the left shoulder for 
active service, was still able to be about. He was a 
middle-aged man of active temperament, and, wearied 
of idleness, would often aid Helen in her duties. One 
day, Helen heard Sam the darkey saying to this 
captain, 

“ Mity fine woman, dat, mas’r cap’n, if she do hab a 
boy an’ no man.” 

“ What do you mean, Sam ? ” asked the captain. 

“ I means, mas’r cap’n, dat Mas’r Harlow, who went 
away just afore you cum, he her boy.” 

“ What, Miss Harlow ? ” 

“ He call her mudder, ennyhow.” 

“ Thank you, Sam : here’s some money for you.” 

“ Gosh ! ” said Sam, as he caught the shining coin : 
“ you’s good, mas’r, ennyhow.” 


248 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


After this, Capt. Gilbert was particularly attentive ; 
not rude, but continually manifesting that kind of in- 
terest which is so annoying to a sensitive woman. 
Helen bore it a while without seeming to notice it ; 
But one day, when he had been more persistent than 
usual, she said to him, — 

“ Captain, when you were a boy, did you ever go a- 
skating ? ” 

He seemed somewhat surprised at the address of such 
a question in midsummer, but replied, “ Often, often, 
my dear Miss Harlow : it was a favorite sport of mine.” 

“Did you ever see a great rude boy purposely trip up 
a little girl because she was not used to the ice, and he 
could do so just as well as not ? ” 

“ I do not recollect now that I ever did : but I am 
certain, if I had witnessed such a thing, that I should 
have thrashed the villain within an inch of his life ; or, 
if not, it would have been because I wasn’t able.” 

Helen smiled. “ But suppose, Mr. Gilbert, that all the 
other boys upon the ice had taken it into their heads that 
they had a perfect right to do the same thing, because 
the first one had.” 

The captain hesitated. “ I do not see the purport of 
your questions, Miss Harlow ; but I do not think that 
such a company of boys could be found,’’ he said at 
length. 

“ Still, if the girl chances to be seventeen instead of 
seven, and the big boy twenty-three or four, and he 
succeeds in tripping her on the slippery steeps of youth- 
ful passion, the others will not even permit her to rise 
if they can prevent it, but look upon her from hence- 
forth as their lawful prey.” 


THE HOSPITAL. — WOMAN'S PROTECTORS. 240 


Helen looked the gallant captain full in the eye as 
she said this : and he evidently understood her mean- 
ing, for he colored to the roots of his hair ; and from 
that time forth he never said, “ My dear Miss 
Harlow,"*' 





S': 


250 


HELEN HARLOW^S VOW. 


CHAI^TER XX. 

SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


“ Sound the loud bugle ; the war-dogs, still howling, 
Are eagerly stuffing their prey : 

The red cloud of war is o’er us still gleaming. 
While peace stands afar, all weary with waiting 
The hour that shall give us again to her sway.” 



AJOR HARLOW.” Charles bowed, 
touched his cap, and waited the pleasure 
of his superior officer. 

“ I have sent for you to consult with 
you in reference to a difficult, I may say 
dangerous, undertaking.” 

“ I shall be happy, colonel, to serve you by any or 
every means in my power.” 

You have heard of Wilson’s gang, major.” 

“ Do you mean the rebel scout. Col. Hazen ? ” 

“ Rebel devil, I should call him,” said the colonel 
excitedly : “ for, if ever the prince of darkness was in- 
carnate, I believe he is in Sam Wilson.” 

“ I have heard of his exploits, and I think I saw him 
once,” replied Harlow. 

“ Ah, you have ! ” exclaimed Hazen, his small black 
eyes brightening till they shone like two coals : “ well, 
you are just the man I want, then. I want Sam Wil- 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 251 

son brought to me a prisoner ; and the man who does 
this shall be well rewarded.” 

“ I am at your service, colonel, but want no reward 
further than the consciousness of having done my 
duty,” replied Charles. 

“ Tut, tut, man ; none of your transcendental ideas 
in practical matters. The consciousness of having done 
one’s duty is well enough; but we all like the substan- 
tial reward, no matter what we may say.” 

Charles knew his colonel too well to argue the point 
with him ; so he simply asked, “ Ay'hat do you propose, 
colonel ? ” 

“ Dem me, didn’t I tell you that I wanted Sam Wil- 
son ? ” 

“ Yes ; but what course do you propose, to accom- 
plish that ? ” 

“ I propose nothing. Major Harlow : dem me if I am 
fool enough to set a man to work who doesn’t know 
enough to do his own planning.” 

“ Allow me to make a proposition, then, colonel.” 

“ Just what I want, sir. It takes you a dem’d long 
while to see the point, though. But I’m waiting: speak 
on.” 

“ The old saying is, that it takes a rogue to catch a 
rogue ; and I propose. Col. Hazen, that a scout shall 
catch a scout.” 

The colonel settled back in his chair, and laughed 
heartily. ‘‘ Go on,” said he: “you are all right.” 

“ I propose, then, with your permission, to take a 
picked company of men, and go on a scouting tour ; 
simply this, and nothing more, the ostensible pur- 
pose ” — 


252 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ And the real one Sam Wilson.” 

“ Yes, colonel ; and not even the men themselves to 
know this, only as I choose to inform such as I think it 
best to.” 

“ You are all right, major : dem me, I knew you 
would be. Go and pick your men, and don’t let the 
grass grow under your feet, young man.” 

Charles smiled. He knew that a kind heart beat 
under the rough exterior which Col. Hazen so delighted 
to present ; and, turning away, he was about to proceed 
on his mission, when he was called back with, — 

“ Don’t be in a hurry, major : stop and take a glass 
of wine with an old chap like myself.” 

“ Thank you, colonel, for the honor intended ; but I 
fear that it would not make my head any the clearer 
for my intended enterprise.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me. Major Harlow, that 
you refuse to drink with me ? ” thundered the colonel. 

“ Sorry to offend you, sir ; but I would refuse to 
drink with the president, should he ask me to do such a 
thing.” 

“ The president is no better than I am, young man.” 

“ Of course, not ; nor any better than I am. Col. 
Hazen.” 

“ Go along with you, before my sword resents your 
impudence,” was the response ; ending in “ Ha, ha ! 
good spunk ; dem me, if he hasn’t.” 

Major Harlow lost no time in selecting his men for 
the projected enterprise, — ten active fellows, fleet of 
foot and strong of limb. These were all he asked ; for 
he depended more upon strategy than numbers for the 
accomplishment of his object. This done, the next step 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


253 


was to fix upon a place of rendezvous, and arrange a 
general plan of action : for particular movements, each 
was to depend upon the exigencies of the moment. 

For their headquarters they selected a farmhouse 
some ten miles from Vicksburg, — the residence of Judge 
Benifield. The judge was at heart a Union man, but 
was so situated that he dare not make his real senti- 
ments known. Like many others in the same situation, 
his house became, in turn, the resort of those belonging 
to both armies, — he always taking the attitude of sub- 
mission when our soldiers visited him ; but many a 
Union soldier owed his life to the judge or his pretty 
daughter, and many a Union office r demanded at the 
point of the sword that which was gladly given under 
cover of this seeming compulsion. In fact, he always 
assumed friendship to the rebels, and hatred to the 
“ cursed Yankees.” 

Sybil Benifield was seventeen years old ; of medium 
height, and not handsome, but what is called interest- 
ing. There was something about her which charmed 
those who made her acquaintance ; though, if they had 
tried, they could not have told wherein the charm lay. 

Major Harlow' had met Miss Benifield once; but we 
will not say that this had any thing to do wdth his choice 
of headquarters : of course, it had not. 

But, one pleasant day in June, he came to the door 
with his ten picked men ; and, summoning the judge, he 
said, “ Mr. Benifield, I wish to make your house a cen- 
ter for myself and men for a while. We may be here 
all at a time, or separately ; but, if you play them false 
in any manner, you wdll answer to Gen. Grant for the 
offense.” 


254 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


“ You know my sentiments, sir,” replied the judge ; 
“ but this is no longer a free country, and one must 
submit when he can’t help himself.” He was par- 
ticularly bitter in his manner of saying this ; but there 
was a look in his eye which showed that it was intended 
for other ears. 

“ I don’t care a pin for your sentiments, but shall 
watch your acts,” replied Charles, in the same arbi- 
trary tone that he had used at first. 

“Well, major.” 

“ Harlow is my name, sir.” 

“ My house is at your service, and my family at your 
mercy. Major Harlow ; and I hope you will be gentle- 
man enough to respect the common rights of hu- 
manity.” 

“ Tut, tut, you old rebel ! do you measure us by your- 
selves ? But my men here would like some dinner ; and 
then we will be off for to-day.” 

“ That you shall have, major ; and, if you make no 
heavier demands upon us, I shall be glad.” Just here, 
Charles saw the figure of a man stealing quietly out of 
the back door. He paid no attention to this for he 
knew that the judge was so situated, that it would not 
be safe for him to have one of the rebels taken at his 
house, and determined, therefore, to avoid it if possible. 
The judge had seen the movement also, and showed 
his relief at the absence of said individual by a change 
of countenance and manner which gave a truer index 
to his real feelings. 

“ Walk into the parlor, major,” said he with a smile 
of relief. “ You will find my wife and daughter there ; 
and I will go and give orders for the comfort of your 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


255 


men ; ” and, throwing open the door, he announced, 
“ Major Harlow, ladies.” 

Mrs. Benifield arose with quiet dignity, and gave 
him her hand in welcome ; while Miss Benifield only 
bowed. In a few moments, however, they were all 
three pleasantly engaged in conversation ; and the time 
passed so rapidly, that Charles was quite surprised when 
dinner was announced. 

“ You have excellent servants, Mrs. Benifield,” said 
he, “ or you have the faculty of making time seem 
very short. It seems hardly ten minutes since the 
orders for dinner were given.” The lady smiled, but 
her daughter pointed to a letter lying behind an otto- 
man. 

Charles turned and picked it up, and was about to 
give it into her hands, when she said, “ It is not mine : 
some one has dropped it there.” The tone in which 
this was said was so significant, that he transferred it 
to his own pocket. As soon as he could find an oppor- 
tunity, he examined the missive, and found that it was 
a Ikie from Wilson to one of his men, and contained 
information of importance. Charles had been so care- 
ful in opening it, that he had but little difficulty in 
closing it up again in such a manner that no one would 
think that it had been disturbed. 

“ This will be missed and looked for,” thought he ; 
and, going back to the parlor, he waited till he caught 
Sybil’s eye, and then dropped it in the same place that 
he had taken it from. She smiled, and, presently after, 
made an excuse to go to that part of the room ; and, in 
doing so, transferred the note to her pocket. “You 
had not been gone an hour, major,” she said to him 
afterward, “ when that letter was inquired for.” 


256 


HELEN HAELOW*S VOW. 


“ Indeed : and what did you tell the gentleman ? ” 

“ What could I tell him, but that I had picked it up 
after he went out, and kept it for him ? ” she responded 
with a merry laugh. 

“ Which was true. Miss Benifield.” 

“ Of course it was, major ; I did not pick it up 
before he went out, and I did not give it to any one 
else.” 

“ But you have not told me who the gentleman 
was.” 

‘‘Certainly not. I am a rebel, you know: but I 
have just dropped a photograph ; and if you pick it 
up, and refuse to give it to me, I can’t help it.” She 
here made a point to get the little card which had 
fallen to the floor ; but he was too quick for her. 

“ Give it to me, sir.” She uttered this in a quick, 
distressed tone, which the twinkle in her black eye 
contradicted. 

“ Couldn’t do it, miss,” he responded, placing it in 
his breast-pocket. 

There was a moment’s silence ; and then she said, 
“ Major Harlow, this life of double dealing is so dis- 
tasteful to me, that, at times, I almost hate myself ; but 
what can I do ? It is the only way in which I can help 
the cause I love.” 

“Do as your conscience dictates. Miss Benifield, 
and don’t be troubled about results. If deceit is not 
an element of one’s nature, it will be practiced no 
longer than safety demands. We never voluntarily 
remain in a condition that is hateful to us.” 

“lam glad to hear you say so, major; for I have 
feared that you would come to believe that I was a 
natural hypocrite,” she replied. 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


257 


“ Really, Miss Benifield, you make me very happy : 
I had not dared to hope that you cared for my opinion.” 
She blushed ; and, thus encouraged, he took her hand 
in his. “ Sybil, — niay I call you so ? — will you be my 
wife?” 

“ When victory perches beside the eagle,” said she, 
lifting her eye proudly to his. 

But we have got a little ahead of our story ; though, 
when one recollects how witching a thing love is, I do 
not know as it is to be wondered at. So we shall not 
ask the reader’s pardon, but simply go back and take 
up the thread we have dropped. 

The man who had left the judge’s house so quietly, 
as Harlow and his men came upon the scene of action, 
was one of Wilson’s men. He started for Wilson’s 
camp, or, rather, cave, — for it was nothing less. He 
started for this as soon as he was out of sight of the 
house : but he had not gone far, before he missed the 
letter he had dropped ; and his anxiety about it caused 
him to return in search of the precious document. 
Upon coming near enough to watch the movements of 
Harlow’s men, he waited till he saw them leave, and 
then hastened thither to inquire if “ Miss Sybil ” had 
seen any thing of any papers or letters after he had 
left. 

She gave him what he sought ; and, little dreaming 
that it liad been opened, he eagerly seized it, and, with 
many thanks, hastened away. But he had been so 
delayed that he did not reach Wilson till some time 
after dark. In the mean time, the finding of this letter 
suggested to the mind of Harlow the idea of deceiving 
the enemy by a similar accident., but done on purpose, 
17 


258 


HELEN HARLOW ^8 VOW. 


He knew, that, as soon as the man missed his letter, he 
would return to search for it ; so, hastily drawing up a 
fictitious plan of action for himself and men, he man- 
aged to drop it just where the man could not very well 
help finding it. i 

“ Well, this is luck ! ” muttered the rebel scout to 
himself : my own paper safe, and the plans of those 
d — d Yankees in my hands in the bargain ! ” 

Wilson and his men were in high glee. “We will 
trap them now, and that is certain,” said Capt. Sam, 
as he was familiarly called by his men. A part of the 
plan marked down in the letter he had dropped. Major 
Harlow carried out purposely ; keeping his eye, the 
while, on Wilson’s movements, that he did not get the 
advantage of him. 

In this manner he was gradually drawing the latter 
into a trap. But his plans were unexpectedly frus- 
trated by an incident that he had not counted on. 
One of the men that he had selected was remarkably 
swift of foot and sure of aim, but somewhat impulsive, 
and a little careless, sometimes, about hearing straight. 
One day, when they were out foraging, Harlow had 
stopped with his men in an open plot of ground in a 
field that had once been cultivated, but was now grown 
over, mostly, with bushes and small trees. While 
there, he wandered a little away from the rest ; but, 
ere many minutes, he returned with “ Boys, take care 
of yourselves : Wilson’s men are right upon us ; and 
I’m not ready for him just yet.” And, suiting the 
action to the word, he leaped the nearest fence, and 
disappeared in the woods. 

Every man followed his example but the one above 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


259 


referred to, — Pipkin by name, or Pip, as he was called 
for short. He did not start till every one else left ; 
but then, as if just waking up to the necessity of the 
case, he measured off the ground so fast that he 
outstripped many of the others. Upon reaching the 
woods, they all skulked ; but bad had barely time to do 
this, when Wilson and his men, twenty-five in number, 
came into the little open space they had just vacated. 

Harlow did not wish his men to discover themselves ; 
but Pipkin, finding a tree of sufficient size to protect 
his body, just in range with them, and a limb upon it 
just high enough to rest his gun, could not resist the 
temptation to try his skill. So, before the others knew 
what he was about, he had fired right in amongst 
them. This so frightened them, that they broke and 
ran. They could see no one ; but the boldness of the 
act, together with the fact that their leader was 
wounded, took away all of their courage. 

Wilson was hit in the thigh, and had barely got 
under cover of the bushes, when he fell ; and his men 
had to carry him off. That night, Capt. Wilson was 
carefully tended by Mrs. Benifield in an upper room 
of the Benifield mansion, while Miss Sybil entertained 
the Union major m the parlor. 

“ Hush ! ” said Mrs. Benifield, as the pain he en- 
dured extracted a groan from Capt. Sam. ‘‘ Major 
Harlow is below ; and, if he should learn that you are 
here, I don’t know what the consequences would be to 
us.” 

u j) — n the major! I should like to put a ball through 
him,” was the irate reply ; but Mrs. Benifield looked 
so distressed, that he restrained himself after that. 


260 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


The judge and his daughter knew which side they 
were on : Mrs. Benifield had but little preference in 
either direction. She only wished to be let alone ; but 
she feared both parties, and did all that she could to 
conciliate them. Her boys were not old enough to 
fight, and she was glad of that. 

Sybil and her father kept their own counsel ; but 
the mother believed that their sympathies were with 
the South. “ Mrs. Benifield,” said Wilson at length, 
“ I wish you would go down and entertain that 
Yankee, and let Miss Sybil come up here.” 

“ It will not do, captain,” she replied : “ he would 
miss her, and suspect something.” 

“ D — n him I ” he again muttered between his shut 
teeth ; and then, recollecting that it was not gentle- 
manly to swear in the presence of ladies, “ I beg your 
pardon,” he said ; “ but it is enough to drive a man 
mad to have to lie here, and that man down there with 
Miss Sybil.” 

“ It will make no difference, captain. Sybil is not 
a girl whose mind is easily changed : she thinks for 
herself.” 

This did not comfort the captain much, but he was 
obliged to be content. Could he have heard Sybil say- 
ing, “ When victory perches beside the eagle,” and 
have seen the light in Major Harlow’s eye as she said 
it, he would have felt much worse than he did. 

But Harlow was not ignorant of Wilson’s where- 
abouts, nor of the fact, that, for fear of compromising 
the safety of the family, he was to be removed to his 
own retreat as soon as his condition would permit of it ; 
and he had laid his plans to take the rebel captain at 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


261 


that time. He succeeded in this to his heart’s content ; 
and Col. Hazen was more than satisfied with the man- 
ner in w’^hich he had executed the undertaking. 

“ I think, though, major, that you are determined 
to secure your own reward,” remarked the colonel 
facetiously, as Charles asked leave to go to Judge 
Benifield’s about two weeks afterward. 

“ I will not pretend to misunderstand you, colonel,” 
he replied, “ and will answer you in her own words : 
‘ When victory perches beside the eagle.’ ” 

“Is it so ? God bless you. Major Harlow ! Miss 
Sybil is worthy of any man’s love,” replied the colonel, 
grasping his hand ; “ but, dem me, you’ve worked fast, 
though.” 

“ But you haven’t told me if I can go,” said Har- 
low with a smile. 

“ Go ! dear me, of course you can. Do you sup- 
pose I want you running away, you rascal ? I have 
been young myself, and know that a pretty girl will 
draw a chap farther than a four horse-team could. Go 
along with you, boy.” 

Charles hurried away, with his heart full of glad 
anticipations ; but he was doomed to a trial he little 
dreamed of. His leave of absence extended from 
Saturday noon till Monday noon. It was about a week 
after the surrender of Vicksburg ; and, during the 
second evening, the conversation turned upon the gal- 
lant conduct of one of the highest officers, who had 
risen by the force of merit, from a barefoot boy with 
neither home nor friends, to the high position he then 
occupied. 

“ I knew him when he was a boy of seven,” said 


262 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


the judge ; “ and a sprightlier little fellow you seldom 
see. He was living with his widowed mother then. 
His father was an English gentleman’s son, and was 
disinherited for marrying beneath him. Being unused 
to labor, he sickened and died from the hardships he 
was obliged fo endure. His mother lived on a few 
years, and then went to join her husband, leaving little 
George to the world’s charity. 

“ This was in old Connecticut : and the overseers of 
the poor bound him out to a hard master ; and, poor 
fellow, he had a hard time of it. But he has lived 
through it all, and is now a great man. One can over- 
come any obstacle but actual disgrace.” 

“Which do you mean, judge, — disgrace of birth, or 
one’s own conduct ? ” asked Charles, a quick pang 
striking through his heart. 

“ Both, young man ; both. The customs of society 
may seem arbitrary ; but still, we must bend to them. 
A man whose mother has the fiftieth part of col- 
ored blood in his veins, it matters not who his father 
may be, can never rise.” 

“ But suppose he gets his colored blood from his 
father, instead of his mother ? ” asked Charles. 

“ That is hardly a supposable case, major ; but, if 
so, the mother is eternally disgraced, and the son 
follows her condition.” 

“ And in the case of illegitimacy, where both par- 
ents were pure blood, your decision would be the 
same ? ” 

“ It would : the child must follow the estate of tlie 
mother.” 

Sybil looked disturbed, though she hardly knew 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


263 


why. And the thoughts that were running through 
the mind of her lover were any tiling but pleasant. 
Presently Charles looked up. “ Judge Benifield,” said 
he, “ allow me to suppose a case, — one which, of course, 
can never be ; but we will imagine it, for the sake of 
the question I wish to ask.” 

“Any thing you please, major,” replied the judge 
pleasantly. 

“ You believe in psychology, sir, — in the power of 
one mind over another ? ” 

“ I believe that there is such a thing, though I can 
not say that I understand it.” 

“ Well, suppose that J do. I am engaged to your 
daughter ; and she has confidence in me as a man of 
honor, or she would never have pledged herself to me. 
But suppose that she is mistaken, — that I am a vil- 
lain ; and, finding that she is subject to this psychologi- 
cal influence, I use it upon her to her ruin ; must she 
and hers be for ever disgraced ? ” 

The judge’s feelings were evidently touched. “ I 
own,” said he, “ that it seems hard ; but we couldn’t set 
aside the decision of society.” 

“ And I ” — 

“ I would shoot you as quick as I would a dog,” was 
the prompt reply. 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the tunes 
of the piano ; and the evening passed off without further 
reference to the subject. Charles Harlow passed a 
sleepless night. His soul rose up in rebellion against 
the injustice to which woman is thus subjected. “ Talk 
of chattel slavery ! ” he murmured : “ where can we 
find a more cruel slavery than this ? But where is the 


264 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


voice bold enough to be lifted in the defense ? where 
the hand strong enough to break the chain ? ” 

In the morning he was haggard from the effects of 
his mental struggle. Sybil noticed it, and asked him if 
he was sick. 

“No, dearest; but I have something to say to you 
after breakfast.” 

The morning meal was eaten in silence almost ; for 
there seemed to be a restraint upon all. When it was 
over, they repaired to the parlor, while Caesar was told 
to bring out the major’s horse. 

“Judge Benifield,” said Charles, after they were 
seated, “ I have something to say to you, — something 
that I can not with honor leave unsaid, after our con- 
versation last evening ; but I hope that you will do me 
the justice to believe that I have not intentionally de- 
ceived you.” 

He paused for a moment, for the pallor of Sybil’s 
face was unmanning him. The judge looked his aston- 
ishment ; while Mrs. Benifield glanced from one face to 
the other in a sort of bewildered way. 

“No,” continued the young man : “I had no intention 
of deceiving you, for I have been so accustomed to see- 
ing my mother treated with respect, that I never once 
thought of it ; but I am an illegitimate child.” 

There was evidently a conflict in the judge’s mind ; 
but pride triumphed. “ I am sorry that I did not know 
of this sooner,” he said at length ; “ for it would have 
saved us all some painful feelings : but, of course, you 
will resign all pretensions to my daughter’s hand.” 

Charles turned and looked at Sybil. She left her seat 
and walked directly to his side. “ Major Harlow is my 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


265 


promised husband, father, and I shall not give him up.” 
Charles had risen to his feet ; and, as she said this, he 
threw his arm around her. ' 

“ Go to your room, girl ! ” thundered the judge, 
angered at having his authority disputed. “ Disgrace 
has never yet been linked with the name of Benifield, 
and I shall see to it that no daughter of mine mars the 
record.” 

“ I will obey you now, father ; hut when victory 
perches beside the eagle, I shall be free to follow the 
dictates of my own heart.” She turned to Charles for a 
parting kiss: he held her in his arms for a moment, 
and then she hurried from the room ; for the gathering 
cloud upon her father’s brow warned her of its neces- 
sity. 

“ Horse ready, sah ! ” said Caesar, thrusting his woolly 
head into the door. 

“ Good-morning to you all,” said Charles ; and, walk- 
ing directly out of the house, he sprang into the saddle, 
and was soon galloping toward Vicksburg. 

About a week afterward, there was word brought to 
him one evening, that a lady at the hotel wished to see 
him. He wondered who it could be, but repaired im- 
mediately thither. “ Sybil ! Miss Benifield ! ” he ex- 
claimed, as the figure upon the sofa arose and threw 
back her vail. “ What does it mean that I find you 
here ? ” 

“ It means. Major Harlow, that the spirit of the Beni- 
fields is aroused, and one will not yield to the other.” 

“ What ! How ? ” he asked, still at a loss to divine 
her meaning. 

“ Nothing : only my father has confined me to my 


266 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


room since you left, determined to make me promise to 
give you up ; but to-day he had to leave upon business, 
and I escaped, and have come to you.” 

“ My own brave girl ! will you give me the right to 
protect you from this time forth ? ” said he, taking her 
hand in his. 

“ Nonsense, major ! it is hardly necessary for ihe to 
break my word in one direction for the sake of keeping 
it in another. I promised my father that I would not 
marry any one till I was at least eighteen years of age.” 

But what will you do, my darling ? ” 

“ Give me a pass for my passage North, and let me 
go to your mother. I would not ask even this, major, 
if I had the money to go without it.” 

“ My mother is in one of the hospitals at Washing- 
ton, as nurse, Sybil.” 

“ Well, Charles, let me go there and share her duties. 
I have often felt that I would like to do something for 
the brave boys who are laying their all upon their 
country’s altar.” 

He looked at her to see if she was really in earnest. 
“ I mean it,” said she, smiling back upon him. 

“ I see that you do,” he replied ; “ but I hardly think 
it best. Let me make a proposition.” 

“ Speak on. Sir Wisdom, and I will listen.” 

“ Not if you banter me that way, miss.” 

“ But I really wish you to, sir.” 

“ Your wishes are commands, fair lady,” he replied 
in the same tone. “ My mother is wearing herself out, 
and I wish her to go home ; but she will not go to stay 
there alone. I propose, therefore, that you go to her, 
taking a letter from me, — that is, if I can not get leave 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


267 


to go with you. I will send a letter, introducing you 
as my promised wife, and ask her to go home and take 
you with her.” 

“ You wish this for your mother’s sake ? ” she asked. 

“ For my mother’s sake, and yours too.” 

“ I did not ask the question, major, because I was 
jealous of your love to your mother ; but simply that 
I might decide as to whether I had better accept your 
proposition or not. For myself, I had rather stay 
where I can be doing something ; but if you really feel 
that your mother ought to go home, and there is no 
other way to induce her to do so, I will do as you sug- 
gest.” 

He looked at her in surprise. “ My own Sybil, I 
am proud of your though tfid consideration. I love my 
mother ; she is worthy of a son’s love and devotion : 
but I feared, after what has passed, that you might feel 
a little prejudice toward her.” 

“I did at first, Charles, and am free to confess it: 
but I have had plenty of time to think while alone by 
myself; and I have come to the conclusion that the 
woman who can maintain her integrity after having 
been thus wronged, — and this with all the pressure 
that is brought to bear against her, — I have come to the 
conclusion that such a woman is much more worthy of 
respect than one who has never been tried.” 

“ If the world would all take that position,” said he, 
with tears in his eyes, “ it would save many a poor 
creature from despair.” 

“ Lady below wishes to see Major Harlow,” said the 
waiter at this moment, throwing open the door. 

“ Who can it be ? ” exclaimed Charles, starting to 
his feet. 


268 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


“ Some old sweetheart, I presume,” said Sybil with 
a laugh. 

“ What shall I tell her, sir ? ” asked the waiter. 

“ Show her up here,” replied Harlow ; and then, 
turning to Sybil, “You will have a chance to see for 
yourself what kind of a sweetheart it is.” 

“ Poor fellow, how it is plagued now ! ” she replied 
with another laugh. 

Here the approach of footsteps prevented further 
conversation, and the eyes of both were fixed upon 
the door. A middle-aged lady entered ; and Charles, 
with one bound, clasped her in his arms. “ Mother, dear 
mother ! is it you ? ” The first greeting over, he turned 
with, “ My mother. Miss Benifield : my promised 
wife, mother.” 

Helen received Sybil with a warmth that won her 
heart entirely. “And now,” said Charles, seating 
himself between them, “ mother dear, I wish to know 
how it happens that you came just when we need you 
so much.” 

“ I came, my son, because I was hungry for the 
sight of you, and because I could not hear from you.” 

“ Could not hear from me ! ” 

“ No : I have not had a letter from you these six 
weeks.” 

“ Strange, when I have written to you as often as 
every ten days, and sometimes more frequently. Why 
did you not tell me that you did not receive my letters, 
mother ? ” 

“ You have received mine, then ? ” 

“ All of them ; or, at least, as many as usual.” 

“ I did not mention it, because I knew, that, if you did 


SCOUTING AND ITS RESULTS. 


269 


not receive mine, it would be of no use ; and if you did, 
that yours were probably delayed somewhere, and 
would come at last : so I did not wish to trouble you. 
But when the papers announced the fall of Vicksburg, 
and still no word, I thought it was time to be looking 
up my truant.” 

“ Never truant from you, mother. But I can not 
imagine what has become of my letters,” said Charles 
thoughtfully. 

“But for what were you wanting mother so much ? ” 

He now explained Sybil’s position, avoiding tlie 
cause of the judge’s opposition, of course ; and expressed 
his desire that his mother should go home, and take 
Sybil with her. 

“ Have you told her all, my son? ” asked Helen. 

“ All, mother,” he replied. 

“ And are yo,u willing to go with me, my child ? ” 
she asked, turning to Sybil. 

“ If you will take me, mother,” she answered. 

Helen clasped the fair girl’s hand in silence ; for her 
heart was too full for speech. 

* And so it was decided that Helen Harlow should go 
back to New Hampshire, taking Sybil Benifield wdth 
her as “one of the principal results of the major’s 
scouting expedition,” laughed Col. Hazen, when he 
heard of the arrangement. 

They tarried several days, however, visiting the 
jmncipal places of interest ; and, when they left, Charles 
went with them as far as Cincinnati. 

Judge Benifield came to Vicksburg during the time, 
and liad one stormy interview with his daughter. But 
she refused to return home with him, and the feeling 


270 


HELEN HARLOW *8 VOW. 


was too strong against him for him to attempt to take 
her forcibly. 

“Dem fool! dem me if he isn’t!” muttered Col. 
Hazen. 

“ Col. Hazen never swears,” said Charles demurely. 

“ No, major, dem’d if I do ; my mother taught me 
better,” was the rather comical reply, — a reply that 
was received with roars of laughter. 

“ Look here. Major Harlow : you haven’t got leave 
to go to Cincinnati yet ; and dem me if you do, if you 
keep on in this way. Shouldn’t go anyhow, if it wasn’t 
for the respect I have for that mother of yours.” 

“ Smitten, ha ! I think some one of us had better 
inform Mrs. Hazen, so that she can come and take care 
of you,” said one of his brother-officers sportively. 

“ Would to God that you could bring her here ! ” he 
exclaimed, dashing the tears from his weather-beaten 
cheek. “But no; I am selfish to wish it: she is now 
an angel in heaven.” 




271 


HOME AGAIN . — A SUPPLIANT. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

HOME AGAIN. A SUPPLIANT. 


. “ Where we have scorned, we yet shall bow the knee. The crown of thorns 
shall to a crown of glory change, when long enough it has been bathed in blood 
drawn from the living fountain of long-suffering souls; when man, proud man, 
shall learn that through the woman heart must flow the stream which maketh 
glad the city of our God, ere yet the serpent’s fangs have ceased to sting.” — 
L- W. 



ELEN reached her home in safety, and 
was welcomed upon all sides with a warmth 
which made her feel that she had indeed 
triumphed. As for Sybil, notwithstanding 
the respect which she had conceived for her 
prospective mother, she was more than surprised, she was 
astonished, at the evidences of regard everywhere mani- 
fest. Rich and poor, old and young, hailed her coming 
alike ; and Lakeside seemed almost the scene of a jubilee. 

And Sybil too, “ our. captain’s promised wife,” as 
they called her. “ But he is major now,” said black Su- 
san, as jealous for the family honor as was ever any 


Southern slave. 

“ Well, captain or major, it makes no difference, Su- 
san. I presume he will be colonel, if not general, when 
he returns ; but he is ours : we have known him from 
a boy, and know that he deserves all the honor he gets.” 

Susan well remembered when they did not look upon 



272 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


it as an honor that he was born among them ; but she 
wisely forbore any comments. Sybil, too, was every- 
where received with favor ; and she had not been at 
Lakeside six months, when she was not only surprised, 
but delighted, to see her father walk into Helen’s little 
shop. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, child,” said he : “ your poor old 
father couldn’t do without you very well, and has con- 
cluded to stop playing the fool, by giving his consent to 
your marrying worth instead of name.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad, father ! ” said Sybil, between 
tears and smiles. But how are mother and the boys ? ” 

“ They are well, you willful puss ; and I think I shall 
bring them up here, for I like the looks of the country.” 

“ O father ! I wish you would.” 

“Well, you needn’t go into ecstasies over it; but 
they are in Boston now.” 

“ In Boston ! Have you really left the South? ” 

“ Yes : it was getting too hot for me. The rebs have 
found out, somehow, what a game we had been playing 
them, Syb, — you and I (you know mother never had 
any thing to do with it) ; well, they have found it out, 
and have sworn vengeance. 

“ It was only three weeks ago, that, hadn’t it been for 
the young major, we should all have been murdered in 
cold blood, and the house burned over our heads. But 
he found it out in some way, and, wdth a dozen good fel- 
lows, came galloping up just in time to save us. 

“ Says I to myself, when I learned all about it, ‘ Tom 
Benifield, you are an old fool, if you are judge. Little 
Syb has got out of their reach, and you had better be 
doing the same. So here I am ; and your mother and 
the boys will be here soon,” 


HOME AGAIN. — A SUPPLIANT, 


273 


“ When, father ? Who is coming with them ? ” 

“ I don’t think it will hardly do to tell you every thing 
at once,” replied the old man in a teazing tone. 

“ Sybil, my darling, Charles is coming home on a fur-* 
lough : he — How do you do. Judge Benifield? I beg 
your pardon for not seeing you ; but I was so intent 
on the contents of this letter.” 

“No excuses. Miss Harlow,” stammering over the 
Miss ” a little, in spite of himself : “ no excuses ; and I 
ask your pardon for my unreasonable opposition to your 
son’s suit. It is time that we learned better than to 
make children suffer for a father’s rascality.” 

Sybil colored. “ I do not think, father, that mother 
has been informed of the cause .of your opposition.” 

“ I can easily infer it,” replied Helen with a smile ; 
“ and am glad. Judge Benifield, that you have learned 
the lesson which many others need to learn, and must, 
before woman can have justice done her. As for my- 
selfj I am happy to meet you as a friend ; and, if you 
bring your family here, I beg of you to accept the hos- 
pitality of my poor home, till you can provide a bet- 
ter.” 

“ Thank you from my heart, madam, — or — miss ; 
but I think you have a part of my family now,” re- 
plied he, trying to hide his embarrassment at his awk 
wardness by a laugh. 

“ I claim Sybil as mine,” she answered, giving her a 
fond look ; “ but I like the Quaker style of address, 
judge ; and, if you please, you may call me Helen.” 

“ Thank you, Helen : I will try to remember.” 

Charles came the next day, bringing with him Mrs. 
Benifield and the boys ; and, for the time, there was no 
18 


274 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


happier company in all the land than the one covered 
by Helen Harlow’s roof. 

How events are crowded together in some periods of 
life ! Like the ripening harvests after a season of toil, 
they hurry us with the gathering, till our granaries are 
full and running over, and we hardly know what to do 
with the excess. 

Charles had been at home but two or three days, 
before the people of Lakeside had their curiosity aroused 
by seeing Mr. Granger of Albright at Helen’s door. 
Helen herself was at a loss to know the meaning of 
this visit. Still, she received him with a kind cordiality 
which was natural to her, and introduced him to her 
friends. 

Charles was absent with the judge ; and that person- 
age, upon his return, opened his eyes a little wider than 
usual, to see a stranger step up and grasp the major’s 
hand, with a “ God bless you, my son ! ” 

Charles returned the salutation, and, turning to the 
judge, said, “Judge Benifield, my father, Mr. Granger 
of Albright.” 

“ You look surprised, Mr. Benifield ; and well you 
may : but, twenty-five years ago, I made as big a fool of 
myself as any one man ever did. There has not been 
a month since that time but I have regretted it : and, 
could I make peace with the woman I then so deeply 
wronged, it would be the crowning of my life ; but it is 
a greater boon than I dare ask.” 

“ You will pardon me, sir, if I speak plainly ? ” 
asked the judge. 

“ Most assuredly, sir : you can not place my conduct 
before me in a worse light than I see it myself.” 


HOME AGAIN. — A SUPPLIANT. 


275 


“ Why do you come here, then ? ’’ 

“ Why do I come here ? ” repeated Granger in a tone 
of surprise. 

“ Yes,” continued the judge : “ it seems to me like 
an insult, under the circumstances. You have a wife 
and family, I believe ? ” 

“ I understand you now, sir. I have a family ; but I 
have never been here before, and should not have come 
now, had Mrs. Granger lived.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Granger : that puts the 
thing in quite a different light. But why not do her 
justice by marrying her now ? ” 

“ That is the. point, judge. She has done herself 
justice, has forced the world to recognize her worth ; 
and she does not need justice from me. The honor 
would be all on the other side.” 

Helen at this point left the room, and Charles fol- 
lowed her. Sybil would have gone too ; but she did not 
feel quite free to do so. 

“ You do not mean to say, Mr. Granger, that she 
would not marry you ? ” exclaimed the judge. 

“ I mean to say, that, if she would, it would not be 
because she demanded recognition, or even accepted 
it through marriage ; for she would honor me by so 
doing, more than I could possibly honor her.” 

‘‘ Strange, strange! ” murmured the judge, more to 
himself than to Granger ; then, looking up, “ Are you 
afraid to ask her, sir ? ” 

“ I am ashamed to ask her, sir.” 

“ My daughter, here, has taken a notion to your boy, 
Mr. Granger ; and I guess if you will make both of the 
children your allies, you need not fear the result.” 


276 


HELEN HARLOW *8 VOW. 


Sybil, at this, left the room ; and, going directly to 
Helen, she put both arms around her neck, saying, 
“ Mother, I have a request to make.’^ 

“ What is it, my child ? ” 

“ But will you grant it ? ” persisted Sybil. 

“ How am I to tell, dear, until I know what it is ? ’’ 

“ I want another father ! ” Helen looked up to meet 
the eye of Granger : he was standing in the door. 
When Sybil left the room, her father caught the flash of 
her eye, and divined her intention ; and so motioned 
Granger to follow. 

“ I wonder if it will have any weight if I'add my re- 
quest to hers,” he said. 

“ I rather suspect that you sent her,” replied Helen, 
trying to appear calm. 

“ I did not, Helen ; but I would send a dozen like her, 
if I thought it would do any good.” His voice trembled 
with suppressed emotion ; and she felt that she must not 
trifle with him. 

“ Do you wish it, children ? ” she said, turning to 
Charles and Sybil. 

“ If it will add to your happiness, we do,” was the 
response from both. 

Still she hesitated ; but his pleading eyes were upon 
her, and she finally said, — 

“ I have always loved you, Edward ; but the time has 
been when I should have given the most emphatic ‘No’ 
to a question like this. The longer I live, however, 
the more I am convinced that you have been wronged, 
as well as myself.” 

“ How ? ” he asked, wondering if her thoughts had 
taken the same direction, as his sometimes had. 


HOME AGAIN. — A SUPPLIANT. 


277 


“ Society,” she replied, “ in crushing the woman 
while it accepts the man, in a measure tempted you to 
do as you did.” 

“ True, true, — every word of it. But it could not 
crush you, Helen ; while I have suifered, God only knows 
how much ! ” 

“ It could not crush me, because I would not be 
crushed,” she replied. 

“ True ; and I wish every wronged woman would 
take the same stand. But you have not answered my 
question, Helen.” 

Again there was a hesitancy, as though she could 
hardly bring herself to say the words. ' “ I suppose it 
must be as the children wish,” she answered at length. 

“ At last ! ” he murmured, taking her hand in his, — 
the first time he had done so since that night of the so 
long ago, — the night on which the story opens. Some 
thought of that time seemed to stir him ; for he said, ‘‘O 
Helen ! I am humbled when 1 think of the truthfulness 
of your life as compared with the falseness of mine.” 

“ Society forced mer to be true to myself, or sink j 
while it held you up, sustained you in the wrong,” she 
replied. 

“No more of this laying my guilt upon the public,” 
he said, playfully covering her lips with his hand. If so- 
ciety tempted me, I sinned, and I have suffered. ‘ The 
soul that sinneth ’ is the declaration. Do you think, if 
I should be tempted to put my hand upon a red-hot 
stove at your suggestion, that it would be burnt any the 
less on that account ? ” 

“ Well, never mind the philosophy now. If it is to be 
as the children say, I want it when the children say too ; 


278 


HELEN HARLOW^S VOW. 


and I should like to have things settled before I go South 
again,” said Charles. 

“ Nothing would suit me better, my boy. What say 
you, Helen ? ” 

“ You say, ‘ the children,’ and don’t even ask my 
opinion. I did not suppose that man and wife were one, 
and that one the husband, till they were married, at 
least,” said Sybil, with a pretty pout upon her lips. 

“You forget that it was included in your request to 
mother when you first came in,” replied Charles. “But 
I should like nothing better than to have the children 
made one at the same time. What say you, my Sybil ? ” 

Sybil blushed, but replied gayly, “ The conditions 
are not fulfilled yet, sir.” 

“ Oh ! yes, they are : victory has perched beside the 
eagle several times since then.” 

“ But you well know that that was not what I in- 
tended ; and, if I begin by allowing you to resort to sub- 
terfuge, there is no knowing what liberties you will take 
after a while. No, sir : you must wait the appointed 
time.” 

Charles looked disappointed ; but the judge, who had 
come into the room in time to hear the last part of the 
conversation, laughed heartily. “ That’s right, puss,” 
said he : “ make him toe the mark while you can ; for 
you will have to yield enough in the end.” 

“ I wish Charles to be recognized under his right 
name before they are married,” said Granger. 

“ Oh, how humble when they woo us ! 

Oh, how proud when they succeed 1 ” 

repeated Helen. 


HOME AGAIN. — A SUPPLIANT. 


279 


Granger looked up inquiringly. 

“ You talk of my honoring you,” she replied : “ still, 
my identity must disappear. I must take your name, 
go to your home ; and my child must bear his father’s 
name, or he is disgraced 

“ I know it, Helen,” said he. “ I know that it is un- 
just. What have I done, these twenty-five years, to add 
to the honor of the name of Granger ? Nothing, nothing 
at all. If I have maintained it intact, I have done well. 
I stand no higher to-day than when I first knew you ; 
while you have risen triumphant over difficulties that 
have hitherto been considered insurmountable. And 
now, even your name must go, if you honor me with 
your hand. I feel, almost, as if I was committing sacri- 
lege to ask it.” 

“ Perhaps you had better relinquish your claim,” said 
she mischievously. 

“ I am too selfish for that, Helen. It is said, that, 
when a man marries, socially speaking, he brings his 
wife to his level : if abov-e her, she rises ; if beneath 
her, she sinks. And I think you will have to be content 
to sink to my level ; for I can see no way in which I can 
rise to yours.” 

“ But we will thank God, Edward, that social levels 
and real levels are two things,” was her earnest reply. 

“ Well, well,” said the judge : “ you Northerners have 
very utopian ideas, I must say. I expect you will be 
setting up some woman for president yet.” 

“ And, if elected, if she could not do better in that 
capacity than some of the men who have held — I will 
not say filled — that office, I should advise her not to try 
it the second time,” retorted Helen. 


280 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


Charles and Granger laughed heartily at this, and the 
judge made no further comment. 

Mr. Gordon’s services, as a matter of course, were 
brought into requisition ; and there was a quiet wedding 
in the parlor over the little shop, on the following week. 

“ Three funerals, and then a wedding,” said the rev- 
erend gentleman playfully. “ Are we to have two more 
weddings to follow this, so as to make matters even?” 
glancing at Charles and Sybil. 

“ I can see indications of but one more,” answered 
Granger. “ But you forget, sir, that one wedding is 
equal to two funerals.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“ A funeral is for one person, and a wedding for two.” 

“ True, Mr. Granger ; but the two are made o/ie.” 

“ ‘ I see, I see,’ said the blind man,” he replied. 

Charles saw his mother settled in her new home, and 
then returned to his post, bearing letters to his superior 
officers, which, in his next promotion, secured his com- 
mission as Col. Charles H. Granger, in the place of 
Charles E. Harlow. 

J udge Benifield and his family remained at Lakeside, 
in Helen’s old home ; and Sybil, no longer afraid of being 
separated from her affianced, staid with them. 

Mr. and Mrs. Gordon visited Helen a few weeks after 
she went to Albright ; and the gentleman said, “ I think, 
Mrs. Granger, it is about time that we settled those 
questions, solved those problems, about which we have 
talked in the past.” 

‘‘ I am ready to give you the result of my observations 
and meditations at any time, sir ; but I shall not promise 


HOME AGAIN.— A SUPPLIANT. 


281 


to make you see as I do. Each one must reach his 
own decision through his own experiences ; and each 
decision thrown out upon the great mass of mind pro- 
duces its own effect.” 

“ Suppose, then, that we devote this evening to that 
purpose. Mrs. Gordon, will you and Mr. Granger 
join us ? ” 

“ I prefer to be a listener.” 

“ And I too,” responded Granger. 


r 




282 


HELEN HARLOW VOW. 


CHAPTER XXII. . 

PROBLEMS. CONCLUSION. 

“ The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head.” — Bible. 

“ Great is the mystery of godliness, God manifest in the flesh.” — Bible. 



VENING came; and, seated around the 
pleasant room in familiar conversation, 
the time was fast passing, when Mrs. 
Gordon said, ‘‘It seems to me that you 
have forgotten the subject of the hour : at 
least, you are not discussing problems.” 

Mr. Gordon looked as if he hardly knew where to 
commence; and Helen said, “I am waiting for the 
question.” 

“ Question ! ” said Granger. 

“ Echo ! ” laughed Gordon. 

Granger looked as if he did not quite understand the 
joke ; and Mrs. Gordon enlightened him by saying, 
“ Husband is laughing because you repeated Helen’s last 
word so promptly.” 

“ Oh ! is that all ? Well, if I never echo any thing but 
what comes from her lips, I shall never be ashamed of 
my echo,” 

“ Never mind the echo : let us have the question,” 
said Helen. 



PROBLEMS. — CONCLUSION. 


283 


“ I think, Mrs. Granger, that some of the questions 
of the past have come from you,” Mr. Gordon replied. 

“ Do you wish me to answer my own questions and 
yours too, sir ? ” 

“ That would be hardly fair, I acknowledge ; but do 
you recollect what my first question was ? ” 

“ I think it was something about my being a Christian ; 
was it not ? ” 

“ Something to that effect, I believe.” 

“ And you grieved over my blindness in not seeing 
the need of a Saviour? ” 

“ I did, Mrs. Granger.” 

“ But confessed that you could not understand the 
theology you taught ? ” 

“ How?” 

“ Did you not confess that you must say with Paul, 
‘ Great is the mystery of godliness ’ ? ” 

“ I believe I did.” 

“ And still you teach that only through this — 
through God manifest in the flesh — is there salvaion 
for man.” 

“ That is the teaching of the Bible, as I understand 
it.” 

“ Well, Mr. Gordon, I believe this to-be true ; but it 
is no longer a mystery to me.” 

“ You have experienced religion, then ? ” 

Helen laughed, and asked, “ How do you arrive at 
such a conclusion ? ” 

“ Because only those who have experienced a change 
of heart can understand what it means.” 

“ Must I conclude then, that, after all these years of 
preaching, you have not experienced that change, Mr. 
Gordon ? ” 


284 


HELEN HARLOW *S VOW. 


He saw the point, and colored, but made no reply ; 
while she continued : “ Do not suppose, Mr. Gordon, 
that I must necessarily see this subject, solve this mystery, 
from your stand-point. In the first place, I must tell 
you that it is from the hells of earth that we need salva- 
tion. If we save ourselves, as a race, from these hells, 
by destroying them, removing their causes, we have 
laid the ax at the root of the tree, and it will not take 
long for the branches to perish.” 

“ Must save ourselves, did you say, Helen ? ” 

“ Yes ; and through God manifest in the flesh.” 

“ That is, we must lay hold on Jesus ? ” 

“ Only so far as we can avail ourselves of the wisdom 
of God as manifested in him.” 

“ But in him dwelt the fullness of the Godhead 
bodily.” 

It might have dwelt in him, Mr. Gordon ; but the 
wisdom of God — enough of that wisdom to save us from 
the earthly hells to which we are subject — certainly 
was not all manifested through him.” 

“ What do you mean, Mrs. Granger?” 

‘‘ I mean just what I say, Mr. Gordon. The differ- 
ence between us is this : you recognize the man Jesus as 
the Saviour ; I, on the other hand, recognize the power, 
justice, love, and wisdom of God, whether manifested 
through Jesus or through any other channel. I recog- 
nize God manifest in the flesh, in or through all hu- 
manity, as the Saviour of humanity. In other words, 
this Christ must be born in us, be manifest through us, 
each and every one, before we can be saved as a race, 
not from future, but present hells.” 

“ But what of future hells, Helen ? ” 


PROBLEMS. — CONCLUSION. 


285 


“We must be saved from them through God mani- 
fest in the spirit.” 

“ I must confess that I can not understand you,” said 
Mr. Gordon, after a moment’s thought. 

“ Do you ever expect to see God, Mr. Gordon ? ” 

“ Certainly, I do.” 

“ How?” 

“ As manifested through Jesus Christ.” 

“ A personal, individual God : where, then, is the in- 
finite?” 

“ Where ? Everywhere.” 

“ Then you will see in Jesus only what is manifested 
through Jesus; in Paul, as much of God as is mani- 
fested through Paul ; and so on : thus you can never 
really and truly see God till you have seen all that 
there is, has been, or ever shall be.” 

“ I suppose you are right, if you take it in that 
sense.” 

“ Acknowledge, then, that we can see God only as 
manifest in his works, and can be saved by God only 
as he manifests himself through us.” 

“ How manifest through us, Mrs. Granger ? ” 

“ Man possesses, in a finite degree, all the powers, ele- 
ments, that we recognize in the Infinite. Is not this 
true, sir ? 

“ I believe that it is, Helen.” 

“ And just as far as these elements are manifest here 
in the flesh, just so far is God manifest in the flesh ; 
and when there is enough of these elements, these pow- 
ers, enough of power, justice, love, and wisdom, mani- 
fested through the human family as a whole, and in 
liarmonious proportions, — power, justice, and wisdom. 


286 


HELEN HARLOW’S VOW. 


each and all ruled by love, — then, and not till then, 
will God be fully manifest in the flesh, to the redemp- 
tion of humanity.” 

“ But how is this to be done, Mrs. Granger ? ” 

“ Through suffering ; through those experiences which 
bring self-assertion in accordance with the right ; through 
those teachings which tend to bring into action the ‘ I 
am ’ within, causing the soul to say, ‘ I looked, and there 
was none to help : I wondered that there was none to 
uphold, and mine own arm ’ (or, in other words, God 
manifest through myself, — my flesh) ‘ brought sal- 
vation.’ ” 

“ I don’t know but you are right. The recognition 
of what we have been taught to look upon as a specialty, 
as a universal principle, may be the true theory, after 
all,” was Mr. Gordon’s thoughtful remark. 

“ Suppose, then,” said Helen, “ that we leave this 
point, and take up another ? ” 

“ Well, what shall it be ? ” he replied. 

“ Why is there so much difference made between man 
and woman, in the punishment accorded by society for 
the violation of the law of purity ? ” 

“ I will own, Mrs. Granger, that I can not answer that 
question, and so will wait for you.” 

“ There are two reasons, sir. First, we find that the 
ruling class always claim immunity for acts that would 
be condemned in the cl^ss ruled.” 

Nonsense, Mrs. Granger : you do not pretend to 
say that man exerts a greater influence than woman ? ” 
We were not talking of influence, but of power. The 
king’s mistress may exert a mighty influence over him 
so long as she pleases him ; and all who desire the king’s 


PROBLEMS. — CONCLUSION. 


287 


favor will flatter her : but let her displease him, and her 
influence is gone, while those who desire his favor will 
be more bitter toward her than even the king himself. 
Man, in our present state of society, so far as the law- 
making and the money-making power is concerned, — in 
both of these, at least, he is king, and woman the sub- 
ject ; consequently, man can do with impunity what 
woman is crushed for doing.’^ 

“ And what is the other reason ? You said there 
were two.” 

“ Womanly purity is of more importance to the race. 
Society is injured more through her downfall than his.” 

“ I know that the mother has more influence over the 
child in its earlier year§ than man has ; and, as early 
impressions are the strongest, last the longest, of course 
it must be of importance to the world that she makes the 
right impression.” 

“ The real cause lies farther back, goes deeper than 
the simple influence brought to bear upon the minds of 
the young. Have you ever thought why it is that 
woman is so much more susceptible than man ? has so 
sensitive an organization ? — why it is that people say, 
‘ As nervous as a woman ’ ? ” 

“ I have supposed it was because she was weaker.” 

“ But why ? There is a cause for every thing, — a 
reason why.” 

“ I can not tell : I have never thought upon it.” 

“ Did you ever have your likeness taken ? ” 

“ Of course, I have. Did not I give you one of mine 
and wife’s the last time you were at Glencove ? ” 

“ You did. I simply asked the question for the sake 
of an illustration. Do you know why the artist is so 


288 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


careful to keep the light from the prepared plate till it 
reaches a certain point of development ? ” 

“I do not know exactly why, but because it will 
spoil the effect in some way.” 

“ That plate is exceedingly sensitive to the action of 
light, — as sensitive as a woman’s nerves. Every ray 
of light that reaches it makes its impression upon it. 
If you want your likeness taken, you dress accordingly ; 
and you are very careful that nothing comes between 
your person and the lens of the camera. 

“ What, suppose you, Mr. Gordon, would be the 
effect if a serpent should be so placed as to come 
between your face and the lens, or glass, which reflects 
the light, carrying it through fo the sensitized plate? ” 

“ Why, I should have the picture of a serpent across 
my face, of course.” 

Is there no process by means of which this could be 
prevented?” she asked. 

“ I do not know ; but I hardly think that there, is, 
Mrs. Granger.” 

“ I think I see what application you are going to 
make of that, Helen,” said Mrs. Gordon. 

Simply this,” replied Helen : “ woman’s fine ner- 
vous organization is the lens of the camera; and the 
unborn babe is the sensitized plate prepared in the dark 
room of Nature’s laboratory, to receive through tliis 
lens — the mother’s nervous organization — the light, 
the influences that are reflected from the outer world. 
If, then, she becomes deranged, or is surrounded by 
degrading influences, the child inherits this as a part of 
itself; even as the serpent, in the illustration given 



PROBLEMS. — CONCLUSION. 


289 


Granger had been silent till now, but watchng and 
listening the while, as though an angel were speaking. 
At the conclusion of her illustration, he drew a long 
breath, and said, — 

“ Who but you, Helen, would ever have thought of 
such a thing? ” 

“ How true to Nature, though ! ” added Mrs. Gordon. 

‘‘And in perfect keeping with poor Jane’s story,” 
continued Helen : “ and it was what she said that first 
set me to reasoning upon this question, in a way that 
could give me an understanding of woman’s true 
work.” 

“ What do you claim that work to be ? ” asked Mr. 
Gordon. 

“ The redemption of the race ; the bruising of the 
serpent’s head through the laws of maternity.” 

“ The guardian angel of the fireside. I am glad, Mrs. 
Granger, that you have come to so reasonable a conclu- 
sion. I began to fear that you were affected with this 
‘Woman’s Rights’ mania. 

“ Mr. Gordon, do you think that it was right for the 
Egyptians to demand bricks of the Israelites, and at the 
same time withhold the straw ? ” 

Grancrer laiio-hed outright, and Mr. Gordon looked 
confused. “ I don’t see the bearing of that question,” 
he said. 

“ When woman has the power to protect the house- 
hold, when she has the right to the lav) -making., law- 
enforcing power., when she stands before the law her 
own protector, — then, and not till then, can she become 
the guardian angel of the household ; then, and not 
till then, can she say to the serpents of lust and sensual- 


290 


HELEN HARLOW'S VOW. 


ity, ‘ Stand back I come not between me and my work ; ’ 
then, and notVtill then, can she so control the love of 
power in man, as to keep herself from becoming his 
victim. But, till that time comes, she must refuse 
utterly to become mother, or she must make bricks 
without straw ; must transmit lust and sensuality ; 
must be subject to the serpent influences that come up 
from those earthly hells into which man continues to 
rush, and to drag her with him when he can.” 

Mr. Gordon did not respond further, but sat in 
thoughtful silence ; while his wife and Granger laugh- 
ingly declared that Helen had come off victor. 

This was the first of many conversations held upon 
this subject : for Mr. Gordon was not the man to yield a 
point readily, but, when once convinced, was free to 
acknowledge it ; and to-day he is a strong advocate of 
suffrage for woman. 

Our story is done, or so nearly so, that we have but 
to say, that, when victory perched beside the ea^le, 
Sybil redeemed her pledge, and, with Charles’s parents 
and her own, returned to the sunny South. There the 
three families are now living, and happy, with the 
exception of but one cloud : Herbert Granger’s fate is 
vmknown. His father and brother mourn for him, and, 
of course, the others sympathize in their sorrow. 






























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